Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When Grian woke up, his head hurt. 

He supposed it was the light, barrelling into his face like a gun. Or maybe it was the fact everything around him was a clean-smelling type of white. A doctor’s or dentist’s office scent entered his senses like a train. White walls, white popcorn ceilings, white paper thin sheets on a white mattress. Even the cabinets were a wall-white. 

His head hurt, and then everything else did. 

When he croaked his stiff neck to a pestering itch in his arm, he saw a long strip tube of fluids flow into him. He felt a bit off the ground, supernatural like this. He saw the bag of said fluids connected to a taller-than-him white pole. As he followed the tube with his eyes, his neck stretched to his wake. He was a bit sour with unrest, his bones sore against his skin. He wanted to move, his energy itching for a run on his favorite trail, but he was pinned by fatigue and the light weight of the hospital blanket.

Looking into the window slightly far, he saw the passing of cars going too fast on the deadly winter roads. Open windows, loud music, honking for something faster, something superhuman, Grian wondered where they had to be. 

Somewhere much cooler than a hospital, he supposed.

Then he gulped, recalling with shaky hands why he was here to begin with. 

It started slow. Slow and domestic. 

An arm wrapped around his shoulders when something was funny. A coat rack of thick cheap winter coats. They were too old to be winter-unprepared anymore. A secret being poured into his ear, an earned ecstasy of belonging. The exhilarating sting of the soju as it barreled down his throat. A kiss when no one was looking hard enough to care. On the way home from a hangout session turned  bar trip turned drunk fresh adults ranting about everything bad in life. Jobs, lack of jobs, girlfriends, and things they could’ve prevented. The grass was frosted to their cold breath, puffs of cold mixed with vape breath swirled the air like cookies.

Then the drunk drive home. The uneasy swerving across empty backroads, watching all the porch and festive lights turn on to their engines, the fireflies blinking at them like guides back to god. The wheel was tense around his fingers, the leather suffocating under something funny. 

He remembered what he asked, glued to the passenger seat nervously. 

“Do you need to throw up?” He offered a pre-prepared empty paper bag. The grocery stores didn’t give the good plastic ones you could double layer anymore. 

Silence echoed in the car, somber Christmas music no longer needed. They were drunk on feelings, the calm subduing them into dolls. Or maybe just Grian. 

“Sam?” 

He asked again, feeling a bit needy now, like a trailing, barking, clingy dog. 

In a moment of space, the car came to an abrupt stop, shooting Grian forward. The car brakes grinded, too old and on their verge. He had to get those fixed. He had too. He slammed back into his seat, a little more sober than he’d been two minutes ago. He looked at Sam with wide, confused eyes, whiplash eating at him like a wasp.

“I can drive if you need me to.” He offered helplessly to drunken uncertain silence. 

“Fuck!” 

Grian flinched at the loud shout, his ears ringing in pain. He looked at his feet, his beat up shoes looking up at him with their torn soles. His skin felt sticky, and he wanted to shower and sleep. Maybe he had drunk too much. Maybe they both had. 

“Sam, pull over here. I’m calling us an uber.” He said, pulling out his phone slowly, cautiously. 

He overlooked Sam’s condition in secret. His boyfriend of two years seemed ruined by too many shots, one too many glasses. The cold always made him a bit too pale. Had he smoked a bit too? Taken anything? Sam’s eyes were dialed back too small, his skin red with a low seething emotion Grian couldn’t identify. 

One thing: Sam didn’t pull over. 

“Hey, Sam.” Grian insisted, “I’m serious, this isn't safe.” He slightly slurred, trying to shake the alcohol out of his light-weight system. 

He clenched the seat below him when Sam sped up, staying silent like both of their lives weren’t  in danger. They were at least 80 miles an hour at this rate. Too fast for a back road, a main road, even the slow lane of a highway. One turn could kill them, or someone else. 

“Stop the car, Sam, I’m being serious right now.” Grian insisted, unbuckling to try and shake sense into Sam. Not the smartest move, but a move all together.

That only sent him flying into the car controls when Sam slammed on the breaks yet again, coming up on a sharp turn. 

Grian could only grit his teeth to hide his yelp when the handle slammed into his upper back, his feet twisting awkwardly for some sort of landing. He almost cried out.

The last thing he remembered was his head stinging onto the cupholder, and then somehow, on the grey damp cold concrete of the street. He didn’t remember much pain, just a numb blurry-eyed view of a night sky lit up by car lights and rainbow blow-up Santa Clauses and muttering he couldn’t decipher. A call for medical help? The police on their way to arrest him for being an accomplice to a DUI?

He supposed he got lucky with not the later.

He felt his head with a shaky hand on his still hospital matress, no bandages because this is fucking real life and not some fuckass fantasy novel. But his vision blurred for a moment at the sudden motion. Ow. 

He also noticed patches of bandage on his back, barely sore, but maybe that was the medicine pumping into him like water. 

Then the door opened. 

An orange-haired nurse smiled surprised eyes at him. Her scrubs were purple, with cutesy flower designs patterned over like this was a children’s hospital. It wasn’t. He looked at the shape his legs made in the thin blanket to avoid the awkwardness of eye contact. Sue him. 

“It’s good you’re up. I’ll send a doctor over now.” She said, “Does everything feel okay?” 

Grian shrugged. He was trying to read the name on the nurse’s badge, but felt his head spin with ache.

“My head hurts.” 

The nurse chuckled, but not mockingly, “That would make sense, you have a decently severe concussion.” 

Oh. That made sense. 

“Your doctor should have more specific details.” She said, “But in the meantime, can you fill out these forms?”

She handed Grian a clipboard and a hospital branded pen. Her hands were soft in their brief contact. He nodded. She pulled out two sheets from a large stack of paper and handed them to him. 

“Just give them to the doctor when you’re done.” 

Grian nodded. Speaking hurt too, everything hurt, every thought he conjured falling under his head’s soreness. The nurse left the room as quickly as she entered, leaving Grian there with the singular question of:

‘Where was Sam?’

He wasn’t even sure if it was the next day over, or two or three or four. He wished for the quiet buzz off his phone like a puppy, or a kitten, or a stupid newborn duck. He sat back on the hospital bed, in ache and confusion. 

Every shadow that passed his hospital room seemed shallow, worn. He wondered how many people had died here today, if they were haunting him with their shallow-er pity. The forms in his hand seemed warm, freshly printed, an evaluation on his mental well-being. 

He read over the questions he hadn’t seen in years. He was definitely due for some vaccines. He could’ve made an effort to see some doctor, but the opportunity never presented itself as major. He was never a sick kid. It took him a bit back to childhood, filling out what would pass over his pediatrician's head to avoid the idea of concern. 

He didn’t have the urge to hurt himself or other’s, fuck, he wasn’t sick like that. He felt as safe as he could be in his current residence. His roommate was quiet and never said anything when Grian brought Sam over, or when Sam invited himself in. He didn’t have depressive thoughts like that. 

It wasn’t like that. 

He knew he was in some means sick. Call it anxiety, seasonal depression, a breakfast cereal without milk. He wasn’t stupid. But never did he feel anything so depressive for these baiting institutionalizing questions to apply to him. 

He checked off everything as a one and placed the forms in his lap. He couldn’t move much anyway, medication plugging into him like a toaster. His head spun with thoughts, aching in short blows. 

It felt like an eternity before his temporary ‘doctor’ walked through the door.

A tall man, brown slicked work hair, a small scar reaching across his cheek like a healed-over battle wound. In his hospital branded sweater with scrubs showing underneath it, was a thick torso. On the doctor’s name tag his last name appeared to be on the longer side.  His cane rattled with  him as he plopped onto a plastic stool by the sink and white cabinets.

He offered Grian a tight smile. 

“Hi Mr. Grian, I’m Dr. Goodtimes and I’ve a few things to discuss with you.” He introduced, offering a handshake.

Mr. Goodtimes seemed professional in the rich way, one step away from being condescending. Grian nodded lightly in understanding. 

He already knew what was wrong with him for the most part. A concussion, a few bruises. 

“You were found unconscious on the side of a backroad some twenty minutes away, do you recall?” Mr. Goodtimes began.

Grian nodded stiffly, keeping away from eye contact. So Sam left him there? His head pounded at the idea. 

“When you were wheeled in, we discovered blotches of bruising  along ur back and ribs, along with a mild concussion.” The doctor explained, describing quite mild injuries. 

Grian wanted to scoff, how weak was his body? The person who called should’ve just left him there. He would’ve found his way home with a bottle of water and an icepack. 

“–but, due to a BAC of 0.15 mixed with dehydration, your body was weakened immensely, leading you to remain unconscious until morning.” 

Oh. 

Fuck, Sam really had left him there all night, hadn’t he? 

“Do you remember about how many drinks you had last night?” Dr. Goodtimes asked, accusatory eyes painting Grian red. 

Grian pursed his lips, “I… Don’t remember.” 

Nobody in the world bought that, so maybe that’s why Dr. Goodtimes sighed so hard. He planned only to have two, but Sam was there, and he drank like, 8, so Grian just continued. Why wouldn’t he? He preferred if he and Sam were on similar levels, it was easier to talk to his boyfriend that way.

By his tenth his memory spotted. Was Grian an alcoholic now? It sounded like it, but he swore he never really drank unless Sam was. Unless Sam asked for him too.

“Okay…” Dr. Goodtimes replied, taking the forms from Grian’s lap with no warning. He almost protected himself, the trauma from the night before getting to his aching head. 

Dr. Goodtimes raised an eyebrow reading the forms over. Weren’t doctors supposed to be unbiased?

“Is my boyfriend here?” He asked the doctor, making him stop mid second read over the mental health forums. He really wanted this to be over. He wanted to go back to his room, invite Sam over for a crappy processed meal, and ignore his roommate into a ghost. It was mutual. 

Dr. Goodtimes sighed, “You don’t have any visitors.” He spoke coldly. 

“Are you lying to me?” Grian shot back, thinking the Doctor’s reply too fast. 

“Doctors aren’t supposed to lie.” He replied, placing the forms down on the white sink counter, “Neither are our patients.” He added, snarky.

Grian internally rolled his eyes. 

“–but as long as we can get an appointment scheduled with your doctor for next week, and you sign off on some papers, you should be good.” Dr. Goodtime said, “We just need you to take it easy. And I mean less work if you can, drinking lots of water, along with consistent rest.” He talked as if he was just trying to get it over with, likely reciprocating Grian’s energy. 

“What if I don’t have one…” He whispered, barely audible above the faint hallway chatter.

A quiet silence stretched across the white room. 

“A doctor?” 

Grian nodded.

“On your medical records it says you have one, though?” 

Grian shrugged. 

“She was my doctor when I lived in England.”

Dr. Goodtimes looked at Grian with dead eyes and a heavy sigh. They mind as well have checked out of the moment hours ago.

That was okay, though. 

Grian preferred that.

–+–

Grian sat at the wheel of his busted Honda Civic, clenching the wheel too tight. Sam sat passenger, vaping out the window, letting the artificial stench of watermelon stretch across the car. The broken AC was clear in the slight shivers of goose bumps dottting down Grian’s neck, and a slightly muffled Radiohead CD played quietly, but at max volume. The car was old. 

Grian was slightly terrified to say a word. He was at the wheel now, in control, but he wasn’t sure what Sam was capable of now, not anymore. Maybe at one point he was, but he was always told to be cautious around his aggressors.

His throat was itching to ask why, though. Why Sam had put both of their lives in danger wordlessly. What happened in Grian’s spotting memory. Had he jumped out of the car? Was he pushed? Had he simply just fallen? He gripped the wheel tighter, his head aching in the cold leather of the car and the mild concussion eating at his brain.

He wasn’t supposed to be driving, but he didn’t want to tell Sam no. He also wasn’t sure Sam was sober. Sam was wearing the same clothes from yesterday. The ones that stunk like a club. Of weed. Of throw up. Of too much alcohol and dead-beat dads. 

“Are you… uh—”

“I’m sober.” Sam interrupted, too quick. 

That’s how Grian knew he wasn’t. Sam always bit at the inside of his lower lip when he was anxious or caught in a lie. He had started vaping to lessen his drug use, but maybe it wasn’t working anymore. 

The watermelon smell made him wince, and Grian felt bad. He didn’t want Sam to think he was a burden, even though he was hurt. Sam was sick, just a little. 

“‘Kay.” Grian replied, turning onto Sam’s street. 

Sam still lived with his mom. His busy, rich, wealthy (did he mention rich?) mom. She appreciated Grian in a distant way, feeding him dinner in the broke winter he had last year and paying him to pay for Sam’s vape alternative. She said thank you when she wasn’t busy in her fancy social circle, but other than that avoided both of them, mostly Sam. 

She probably messaged Grian for updates about Sam more than she talked to Sam. Grian thought that maybe she saw Sam as a thorn to her image. He figured so.

Pulling into the long, well-kept brick driveway of Sam’s, he secretly felt relieved. He waved Sam out of the crappy car, unfitting for the large houses surrounding them. Each must’ve had electric bills in the thousands with the amount of Christmas lights that covered the house in rainbow. Each yard with the exception of Sam’s and the vacation homes had their lawns and gardens covered in decorative candy canes and Christmas characters they all thought were real at some point in life. Rudolph and his reindeer brothers. Santa Claus and his fat oreo-eating belly. He probably looked like an ant to these surgeons and nepo-babies. The artificial watermelon smell lasted longer than Sam’s absence.

He pulled out of the driveway carefully. He didn’t want to mess up any part of Sam’s mother’s outward image, he was slightly terrified of the woman. 

He drove through the long street of big frosted gardens and good green grass, jealous as a rat to a mouse in a suit. Growing up in lower class England wasn’t hard on him, just a little exhausting and grey. He wondered if his life would’ve turned out different if he grew up better. If he tried harder in school, in work, at home. He imagined if he had the resources of the little girl building a pile of clean snow into a numb pile he drove by on the pothole-less sidewalk. The fancy school he would've gone to, with good food and fun field trips. He’d pay a tutor for the math classes he always lagged behind in. Maybe he’d be more lax. He drove until he came upon his set of apartment, just a few miles from his crappy low-paying bartender gig. Parked in the farthest lot, he turned off his car to save the two cents of gas he could’ve. 

Looking left and right, he saw the nearest car was at least seven spaces down.

And then he cried.

Just for a few minutes, maybe three, not more. He was just a little tired. Being hospitalized with a rude doctor and a mild concussion and bruising, and he supposed Sam too. He was thirsty, he had to pee, he was hungry, his head hurt, his fingertips were practically solid cold. He wanted the day to end and soon. He wanted to travel a week into the future just for the stability.

He checked his red eyes out in the sun-shade mirror with a dead light, wiping at them helplessly. In a room of ten people, someone would notice he’d been crying, and he wanted no one to. Everyone cried sometimes, this was no different. Over a bad grade, bad food, a bad day at work. He just hoped Jimmy wouldn’t judge him silently from his bed, or ask any questions. Jimmy always wore a weird expression when he saw Grian, especially when Sam trailed behind him like a subdued puppy.

He entered his dorm, flashing his resident ID to get past security with his head down and keys jingling. No one looked at him in the short view he had. He liked playing ghost when he knew he looked like crap, didn’t everyone?

He took the stairs, two stories up and out of the dingy echo-y stairwell, legs worked out from the simple task. He passed two people and two people only, who were too tired in their heavy coats to look at him properly.

He walked though numbers of rowdy dorms, some quiet behind the thick heavy dorm doors, coming across his own with a relieved sigh. He just hoped Jimmy wasn’t back yet.

He pressed his ID to the door, getting a whiff of laughter from behind the chipped paint. He could already feel his head start to ache again. 

He pushed open the door, welcomed to the joyous chat of Jimmy…

And some other voices.

Fuck.

Grian winced, clenching a quiet fist before walking in. Jimmy rarely brought over friends, to their apartment at least. He knew the man had a good amount of looks and by proxy good friends. Grian took Jimmy to be the nice popular kid in Uni. Grian figured he never brought them over because of him. Because of Sam. The rare times they were over, Grian let them be, leaving the room for a few hours until he was sure they were gone. 

He spotted Jimmy, sitting atop the leg of their small couch they picked up on dump day, with two people who seemed to be a couple based on the way they leaned against each other like a lifeline. The girl had pink pastel hair that seemed hard and expensive to maintain. The man had a green strip dyed into his hair, barely noticeable from a distance, but there. 

Jimmy smiled his stupid blond smile at Grian, as if he was relieved to see him breathing. Grian just tried to slip back on his worn boots and avoided any presence. Or at least he tried to.

“This is my roommate I was telling you about, Grian.” He introduced Grian like a mother their shy child. 

Grian wanted to lock up where he stood, but mustered a quick nod. 

“Hi.” He greeted, he turned to Jimmy, “Let me know when you’re done.” He said, turning to leave the apartment as usual, but Jimmy’s face twisted at his quick exit, or almost exit. 

It made Grian stop in his shaky tracks. Had he done something to make Jimmy upset? He hadn’t meant to intrude on his hangout. 

“You can stay, you know, you should rest after getting a concussion anyway.” Jimmy insisted. 

Grian felt shame run up on him as Jimmy’s two friends exchanged weird looks.

“Okay.” He shrugged, walking towards his bedroom with a reddening scalp. 

“Do you need water? I can make tea too.” Jimmy asked him, stopping Grian in his rushed tracks.

Grian mumbled some sort of ‘no’ with a nod, crashing onto his room almost immediately, facing the wall. He wanted to be invisible. He hated that he heard Jimmy sigh sadly to his reply before he shut the door on the noise. Hated that Jimmy’s fuckass friends were looking at his plain bare door awkwardly. 

“Okay. Let me know if you want anything from Scott's Cafe, then.” Jimmy shouted from the living room, likely gesturing for his friends to leave the apartment with him. 

When the door clicked shut behind them, Grian was alone. Again. He turned to face the wall, his empty bedroom walls. Jimmy’s room was full of removable posters, and even a little board with photos and polaroids of some of his friends, Grian assumed. On the board were also family postcards and cat photos (lots of them). He would be lying if it didn’t make him the slightest bit jealous. 

Jimmy had a life outside of here. 

Real, close friends to talk to about even the sadder topics, a Christmas to go home to. His head stung as he bathed dirty in his own pity. 

What did he have? A rich boyfriend who really wasn’t that rich, his boyfriend’s mother who hid her son’s existence like the plague, sometimes-friends who ditched when Sam left the room, or when he began shortly sober. They only liked Sam high, he supposed.

–+–

“I thought you said he was friendly?” Joel asked, skeptical, but more in a joking way. 

Jimmy shrugged, “Well, he was just in the hospital. He’s tired, probably.”

Lizzie seemed to take the answer well, giving Joel a glare when he gave Jimmy that playful uncertain look.

“He also smelled like vape.” Joel added while scrunching his face, earning an elbow from Lizzie.

Jimmy frowned, “He doesn’t… vape or whatever. It’s probably from his boyfriend.”

Joel nodded, obediently under Lizzie’s glare. 

“You don’t seem happy about that.” Lizzie said.

“About what?”

“That he has a boyfriend.” 

Jimmy rolled his eyes. He never meant it like that.

“It’s not like that.” He said, “His boyfriend is weird.” He explained.

Joel and Lizzie exchanged a look. 

“Isn’t it weird that he isn’t even here to check on Grian? If one of you had a concussion I’d walk you to your dorms everyday.” Jimmy ranted, only faced with a shrug from Joel and silence from Lizzie. “He also barges into the dorm unannounced and hangs out after hours without asking.”

“Sounds like a douche.” Joel commented quickly. 

“He is! And I can’t even tell Grian to find someone better because we aren’t really close.” He was almost yelling at this point, only shutting up when a curious onlooker locked eyes with him.

Lizzie seemed deep in thought at Jimmy’s hash sentiments, taking a bite of her croissant. The cafe they were local to was usually bustling with people, and it still was today, the line barrelling almost out the door, the warm AC leaving the facility as fast as it entered. Swift breezes made them shiver every now and then.

“Have you ever thought about asking him to hang out with us?” She prompted.

Jimmy paused, as if he hadn’t thought of that. 

“I’m not sure he’d say yes.” He replied, honestly, “I’d think he’d find your habit of neck kisses overwhelming.” He joked, smiling from Joel rolled his eyes. But Earth brought him back down, imagining a world where the two could be closer. He figured they had chances to become closer. A lot of them. But they just didn’t. A weird wall was built between them almost, kept up by the fear of messing things up.

He recalled when Grian would take Sam to eat dinner in his room when Jimmy was anywhere near proximity, not even putting the dishes away until Jimmy went to his room or the bathroom. Grian never did his nightly routine the same time as Jimmy. He was clean, sure, Jimmy would find the place spotless when he’d be gone for hours. But it was like living with a friendly ghost. 

“I don’t know.” Jimmy continued, when Lizzie gave him that curious concerned look, “He seems uncomfortable near me.” 

Joel, with his mouth half full with a chocolate croissant, “‘Hen why ‘re you ‘oomates?” He asked.

Jimmy sighed dramatically, leaning into his seat. 

“I don’t know.” He dragged, “Met him at some job fair, both from England, thought he was cool, and he was, and he mentioned he was looking for a place to stay, so I offered my place because Oli moved out a few months before.” He explained, taking a moment to breathe, “And then I guess he met Sam.” 

“Maybe he just got comfortable.” Lizzie suggested. 

“Maybe.” Jimmy shrugged, “The guy still annoys me though.” He replied, taking a sip of his overly sugary coffee with a scoff. 

–+–

Grian stared at his phone, opened to his messages, full of spam numbers and fake job offers from MLM schemes, and Sam, and Sam’s mother. He was in a few group chats with dozens of unread messages that he knew never considered him. If he deleted them, he’d be afraid he seemed more pathetic than he was. 

He was on his break, in his stupid black pants and work shirt. He felt the cold cash tips in his pocket, about $50 so far, which was a pretty cold number considering he’d been a bit tired these days. Maybe he could splurge on a good gift for Sam this year. 

He sat by the overfilled dumpster, staring at a wall of concrete fence, just taller than him and topped with ice-y snow. Some apartments were on the other side. Sometimes he heard kids playing or adults screaming or laughing. The dumpster was filled with wasted bar food, fresh from its freezer rot. The ground was covered in cigarette buds, vapes, empty liquor bottles, and distant trash. He watched ants gather by a cheeto, mauling it dead, the bag just a few yards away. 

The old door creaked open and he almost flinched, thinking it was his moody manager who always insisted on smiling and small talk. Instead, it was his coworker, Pearl. 

Pearl’s long brown hair, moon clips, and whimsical way of styling their god awful uniform drew good attention. Her aussie accent drew attention too, people asked about where she was from, why she moved. She seemed to have masked customer service perfectly. 

“You’ve seemed out of it today.” She commented, “You made Martyn’s drink wrong, somehow.” She laughed at the moment from a few hours before, where he had gotten a regular’s odd mix of alcohol wrong at it’s base. 

Grian pursed his lips, looking to the ground, “Yeah, I’m good. I think I’m still a bit dazed from yesterday.” 

Pearl raised an eyebrow, “Got wasted?”

Grian nodded, “And a concussion.” He joked, “It’s only mild, though.”

Pearl paused. 

“Griba.” She spoke, expectant and confused, “You’re working a 12 hour, overnight shift, with a concussion?” 

Grian didn’t think it was a big deal. He still gave decent service, got decent tips too. Sure his small talk game was off, but bearablely so.

“Yeah.” He shrugged.

“Does the manager know?”

“Gave her my doctor’s note.” 

Pearl huffed, “It’s not like we get paid hourly, just use your PTO for a day or two.” She insisted, “You have like, what, twenty days saved up?” 

Grian shook his head, “I’m saving it.” He said, “Just in case.” 

“In case of what?” Pearl scoffed, “You look pale, you should ask for Wednesday off at least.”

“Too short notice.” Grian replied, “I’ll live, Pearl, all’s good.”

Pearl hummed, kicking an empty soda can against the concrete fence. They were both quiet for a moment, the smell of forbidden grass and vape filling their familiar noses. 

Grian checked his phone for the time, noticing a text from Sam.  

He mentally prepared himself, noting that he only had two minutes left on break, so he couldn’t afford to lose track of time. He even turned the phone out of Pearl’s view, not that she would look, but Grian was uber cautious in general.

Sam: meeting went well

Grian almost smiled at the message, he was relieved there wouldn’t be a repeat of yesterday for a while. He hoped so. Sam only got like that after a relapse, so not often enough for it to raise question.

“How’d you even get a concussion anyway?” Pearl asked, making Grian paused as he watched the clock click one minute left. 

Police sirens wailed by them, typical of the city. It gave Grian a few more moments to think of a reply. The bird families chirped by. A dog barked at another and the other dog barked back. Endless tourist chatter.

He hummed, sending an encouraging reply to Sam with a stupid gif.

“I’m a clumsy drunk.” 

–+–

When Grian got home from his shift, it was into the early ‘A.M.’’s, sometime around four. The sun barely showed itself over an air-polluted  city skyline. It was below freezing in a bad way. In the way the city’s cold bled through his jacket. He climbed up the stairwell with aching legs, walked past quiet chipped-paint doors. 

When he found his door he opened the door as quietly as possible, even turning the key slowly. 

But the kitchen light was left on, to his surprise. 

In the bare apartment, the living room was clear, darkened by a lack of light. The kitchen light shined on a folded paper bag on the counter. There was a sticky note on it. 

Grian approached it.

It must’ve been Jimmy. Sometimes his roommate forgot to put away food. He’d left a to-go order of ramen untouched on the counter a few days ago that Grian had to put away from him. Some orange chicken last week. Sometimes they went uneaten too, unless Jimmy finally got to eating it. There was usually no note, though. Did one of his friends leave it? 

Grian picked it up.

‘bought this for u after ur shift! – Jimmy’

It was… for him?

He opened the paper bag as cautiously as a cat, the crinkling too loud for the quiet of the apartment. He heard Jimmy’s fan from here, buzzing and rundown. 

In it was a chocolate croissant. 

It was cold now, bread staled in the sour aftertaste. The chocolate was solid, almost, but Grian appreciated the dinner, he usually went without it or just picked up fast food on the way home if it felt worth it.

He wrapped the remaining bites into foil. A sweet breakfast sounded nice. Sam preferred fancy savory foods, so they didn’t order sweets much. 

He tasted the chocolate and butter in his teeth until he brushed it out, flossed it thoroughly to keep his kissing breath from going sour. He washed his face with cheap dupe of fancy Japanese stuff Sam’s mother recommended seeing the “poor person” stuff Grian used from his local department store. It was the budget friendly version of course. The cold always dried his face up anyway.

Grian held his breath when he heard Jimmy’s bedroom door creak open. 

He quickly removed the remaining wash from his face, cleaning his hands, checking for stray tooth paste on his face or shirt, before going to exit the bathroom for Jimmy’s use. 

When he opened the door, Jimmy’s tired eyes greeted him.

It was pretty late and Grian had gotten used to his fucked-up sleep schedule. He just liked to work, it took his mind off things. 

Jimmy groggled a ‘hello’, before entering the bathroom himself. 

Grian nodded, walking to his room as quickly as he left it. After work it was hard for him to talk to anyone anymore, but before he slept, he made sure to message Sam a curt, ‘just got home from work, sleeping now’. He knew Sam probably was awake, spending his mother’s money on cheap grass, or getting wasted on a stranger’s couch. 

Before his eyes closed,  he drew an image in his head of before. During college, burning water in the dorm’s community stove, partying in the background of rich kid’s kitchens, Taurtis. But before he could think too deeply or pathetically, he drifted off into a short-lived rest.

–+–

For some reason, Jimmy’s friends were over again when Grian woke up. Granted it was 1 P.M., and his shift started at 2:30, he had no reason to wake up normally, but it was usually to an empty apartment. Grian causally checked his phone as he strolled to the kitchen, in their view. He hoped his bedhead wasn’t too bad this morning, Sam used to tease him for it. 

On his phone he saw a text from Sam. It was from 10 A.M., and a reply to Grian’s 4 A.M. message. 

Sam: gn

Grian read it for too long, pausing where he stood at the counter. His texts were in blue, and outnumbered Sam’s grey replies by a 7:1 ratio, but he tried not to think too hard. Not everyone liked texting, or calling. 

He popped open the fridge to get what he had left of his croissant from the night before. About half, good on him. His hungry brain devoured it in short but sweet bites. He didn’t really care that the chocolate was hard and cold. 

“Is that a Severance t-shirt?” 

…

Was that directed… at him?

He turned around to see Jimmy’s friend with the green streak, Joel(?), looking at him, as well as the girl he was with last time. 

“Yeah,” He replied, getting a better look at what the TV was playing. 

It was fucking Severance. 

He bit back shame, for making the mood awkward, but nodded and tried to escape away back to his room. 

“Where’d you get it from? It’s sick.” Joel asked, sounding a bit desperate to Grian’s ears. 

He didn’t know. It was Sam’s to be honest. 

“I’ll ask my boyfriend. It’s his I think.” Grian replied, turning to face the group again because it was rude not to. 

Joel nodded, “But have you watched it? Severance?” 

Grian knew where this was going. But before he could reply with a lie, just wanting to be away and alone before he had to work in an hour, Jimmy spoke over the quiet. 

“I saw you watching it with Sam, or the beginning at least. Did you ever finish it?” Jimmy asked. 

“Basically.” Grian shrugged. He was a bit surprised Jimmy remembered that Grian and Sam had watched a bit before Grian took off and Sam left to do Sam things. 

“You should finish it with us, we’re almost at the end.” Jimmy insisted. 

Now he’d just look like a dick if he said no, right?

He sighed, “Sure, just let me get ready for work first.” 

Grian could practically feel Jimmy’s smile as he walked away to the bathroom.

–+–

“Funny seeing you here.”

Grian stiffened, feeling unknown eyes creeping on him like ants. 

He shakily shook the cup of ice, soda, and alcohol into a mix he knew well. It was a regular’s drink he was making. The guy was some genius in some smart science stuff Grian didn’t care to understand. It was Pearl who would listen to the man’s rant about a project or paper he was working on, but of course she was off today. 

Grian skillfully poured the drink into a thick glass, with only light ice as per request. 

He turned with keen eyes, searching for the regular (was Cub his name?) in the small crowd of people waiting on him. They were short staffed like hell today. He put on a small smile when he handed him the glass, turning back to his station of three more drinks to make. Cub thanked him and handed him a folded ten, muttering a quiet ‘good luck’ under his breath as he gestured towards the same pestering creep who’d been being weird to Grian for at least a week now.

“Ignoring me today?” The same stupid voice asked again. 

Grian clenched his fist around a tough bottle of vodka. 

“I’ll be right with you.” He replied, scouring the rows of alcohol, juice, sodas, and mixers for what he knew he needed next. He felt his skin crawl as the eyes lowered themselves down Grian’s back. 

He made two more drinks, then three, before he could take anyone else’s request. But he dreaded every waking moment of the process. He knew bystanders and especially Cub were aware of the… pressing issues, but what could they do? 

Grian turned around, finally facing the face the voice belonged to. 

Some creep who insisted he was only forty but he looked for sure older. His hair was graying, even though he tried to hide it behind dye. His face seemed to be sinking into itself. He wore rich guy things like watches and slacks, drove a big electric car to seem like a better person than he was. 

Grian didn’t even know his name, but he had been coming almost daily just to hit on Grian of all people. Not Pearl who was prettier and had the silkiest brown hair that fell to her hips. Not Cleo who worked nights after teaching, but still had the most gorgeous fresh face after dealing with kids all day. Grian, the bartender who looked younger than he was and always one step away from death. He figured he could take a bullet for his co-workers though. God knew how much they were hit on, even with dedicated regulars who called bullshit like hunters. 

“Hi, sir–” Grian tried to speak. 

Keyword ‘tried’.

“You know what I want.” 

Grian paused. 

Yeah. He did. 

“It’ll be right out.” He replied.

–+–

“When do you get off?”

“Dunno. Not yet. Would you like to close your tab?” Grian asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

“I’m not done drinking. I’ll close my tab once you end your shift.” 

Grian was too tired for this, fuck. Why was he being so forward today? 

“I have a boyfriend.” He said quietly, so the four other people across the bar couldn’t hear. 

It was just him, Grian, and four drunk college students now. If that wasn’t a bad situation, he didn’t know what was. The guy usually left a few hours in, but he was still here, looking at Grian like he was candy. 

“Couldn’t tell.” And there was that snark in his voice, like he knew. 

The same over-played pop song played overhead for the third time that night. Grian’s feet hurt. His head hurt. His phone had buzzed around two times that night in his pocket, which had to mean Sam was greened out again, or maybe he was just sleeping. 

He wondered if the messages were from Jimmy. Or Pearl. There weren’t many options after all. 

“You wouldn’t have to work at this dingy place if you were with me.” 

Grian didn’t reply, walking across the bar to where the four college kids were. 

He took their empty glasses, stacking them skillfully into the sink of other glasses he had to wash before closing. Then he walked back to them, watching as the man scooted a few stools closer to him. 

“Would you like anything else?” Grian asked, trying to savor the presence of the college kids before this got scary. 

One of them, a taller girl, shook her head, “I’m all good, we were just curious if…” She paused, and looked at her friend. 

“Is that guy bothering you?” Her friend whispered, tapping her glass like she was explaining what she wanted to order next. Grian caught on like a hawk, feeling the relief fall through him as his intoxicated saviors discussed his rescue. 

Grian nodded carefully, “He’s waiting for my shift to finish.” He replied, turning to fix up a drink that was never ordered. 

The group of drunk girls in their skimpy dresses exchanged dirty looks. 

“That’s so gross…” One said, gesturing fakely as if she was just talking to her friends. 

Grian could only smile, trying to keep still and anxious. 

He finally had a fun story to tell Sam.

–+–

Grian hugged his knees to his chest, barely conscious, second-hand high in Sam’s dingy druggie basement. Everyone had left already, and you could tell they had been there twenty minutes prior. 

Red solo cups littered the floor, a small bowl of mismatched pills sat on the center table beside two empty party size bags of Cheetos. Grian wondered where each pill had come from. How many grandparent’s, parent’s, roommate’s medicines were snatched up for some fucked up candy salad with a risk of death. He was basically an accomplice to a crime. Cheeto dust stained the arms of the couch, a trashbin of throw-up reeked. Russian roulette was a game that always scared Grian, but as long as he didn’t partake in it he felt better. 

Grian watched Sam exhale out stench and air, looking for something in Sam’s dead eyes. 

He wondered what he could say to fix this. 

He had the bar story. He had a lot of bar stories. But he wasn’t sure Sam wanted to hear them, or him for that matter. Sam’s stillness scared Grian. It reminded him of the hazy night that left his head a wreck of pain. It reminded him that Sam was the closest thing he had to grounding in the world, no matter what he tried to change.

His phone buzzed next to him, like it had for the tenth time that night. It was probably Jimmy, or spam. Pearl didn’t really text him that often, and his manager only spoke in emails. 

“Gre-on.” 

Grian’s head perked up from his phone, curious and cautious. 

Sam was quiet for a while.

In the ten seconds of silence, he looked at Grian, then to the floor, then Grian. His empty eyes were computing something Grian couldn’t decipher. Grian wanted to hear it. Believe it to be an act of trust, love, something tangible. He was hungry. And high. Fuck.

“You know you don’t have to stay.” 

Grian nodded.

“Go home.” 

Grian ran his thumb over his short nails, pressing into his skin. It wouldn’t draw blood. It barely stung. He stopped looking at Sam. 

He stood, grabbed his phone and his keys, and climbed up the basement stairs. 

The mansion was dark, dead, and silent to his presence. The floor shined against the moon’s position overhead. The kitchen clanked moldless pipes. The living room’s pillows were lined up and freshly steamed against the grey couch that looked black in this light, or lack of thereof. The plants were alive, the paintings might’ve been dancing a jester dance in mockery of Grian. 

He pushed open the unlocked door and closed it behind him quietly like he would’ve woken someone if he didn’t. Just in case. His car was waiting for him in an empty driveway, parked perfectly out of the way. The dim garden seemed eerie this late, he wondered if the remaining plants were cold too. It was dark and spotty, or maybe Grian shouldn’t have been driving. 

Still, what way did he have home?

The car took two key turns to full start. The CD picked off where it left off. A club song by some underage teenage popstar made his ears ring with his confusion and probably some random wave of nostalgia. He didn’t go to his high school prom but he imagined this is what they played. And everyone sang along in their dresses and make-up and rented suits. And after they all had a grand party at some neglected kid’s house and got busted by the cops. And then they all hid until they left, fled until it was safe. And then they went home. 

Grian played the song again when it finished. 

And this time he walked across a stage with his hands trained to grab his diploma the same way his male peers did. His gown was long and blue, and when he looked out into the crowd of family and family friends, he saw no eyes keen on loving him. He heard their claps of pity. He bet they knew what he was thinking. 

Grian tried to play the song again, but he was in the parking lot of his apartment complex, and all the song made him was sad. 

The streets were dark and moths gathered lamely around frozen streetlights. 

He bet they felt cool up there.

–+–

“Do you have a favorite song?” Martyn asked, while watching Grian mix his drink.

Grian raised an eyebrow, “Why?” 

“You never seem to like any of the music they play here.” Martyn shrugged, “Was starting to think you hated music all together.” He scoffed to himself like it was funny. 

Grian shrugged, putting a scoop of ice into some weird mix of soda and vodka Martyn gulped down too often to be healthy. 

“It’s just radio music. Which is… not great.” He replied. 

“Well what music do you like then?” Martyn asked, genuinely seeming curious. 

Sam had CD’s he left in Grian’s car. He just played those. Radiohead, Miley Cyrus, was there some Lady Gaga in the mix too?

“My boyfriend keeps a lot of 2000s pop and alt CDs in my car, so I guess that.” Grian replied, in the midst of mixing another drink. 

Martyn rolled his eyes, “I’m not asking about your boyfriend though.” He seemed to just be teasing, but Grian couldn’t tell. 

Grian handed the quickly made drink away and shook his head dismissively.

“Go home to your wife and kid.” He hissed, almost jokingly. 

Martyn sighed, “Wifey lets me here, Gri, sorry. Says I can three times a week!” He held up three fingers genuinely excited that his wife “allowed” him to go to the bar. 

It made Grian laugh. 

“Good for you, then.” 

–+–

“You smell like weed.” Pearl commented, amidst clearing her email during her break.

Grian shrugged, reading a message from Sam’s mother again and again until it made his head hurt. Granted most things did pretty easily. 

“I’ve heard that it makes concussions worse.”

“I didn’t smoke anything, Pearl.”

Pearl shook her head.

“Sure.”

–+–

A crappy anime played quietly throughout the living area of Grian’s apartment. 

Sam laid back to the couch, head in Grian’s lap while he scrolled Instagram. Grian sat criss cross on the couch, fast forwarding through a scene that was particularly embarrassing. 

Jimmy said he was going for a nap, so Grian made sure to keep him, Sam, and the TV quiet. 

“Can my friends come—”

“No.” Grian cut Sam off. 

Sam frowned, “Don’t be a dick.”

“I have a roommate, Sam, I’m not gonna make him uncomfortable with their… issues.” Grian explained, finally finding where the scene ended. 

He saw Sam texting a small group chat after his explanation. 

“Pearl said weed wasn’t good for my concussion anyway.” Grian added. 

Sam hummed, “Pearl?”

“My co-worker.” of three years – Grian wanted to add, but he didn’t. 

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh. Grian wasn’t even paying attention to the show anymore. His head spun with unwarranted irritation. It wasn’t that big a deal, really. Sam had never hung out with Pearl, Grian only brought her up in work stories, his only good stories, but not all of them. Sam was never good with memory, Grian reminded himself. 

“They aren’t issues, by the way.” Sam said, “My friends.”

Grian rolled his eyes, “I didn’t say they were issues, I said they had them. You know what I meant.” He replied, wanting to shove Sam out of his lap and out of the apartment. He didn't know what was wrong with himself. Sam’s presence just seemed… exhausting. Like he didn't know what to say anymore. 

Sam put his phone down. 

“Do you dislike the people that make me happy?” He asked, suddenly some fucking interregator with the way he looked up at Grian with his big green eyes. 

Grian rubbed his temple, he really didn’t want to deal with this right now. It would just go on as Sam accusing Grian of every bad thing in the book. Grian’s words would go out of Sam’s ear and out the other. Fuck, he didn’t want to deal with this right now, or at all for that matter. 

“I don’t dislike them, Sam. They’re addicts, okay? That’s what I mean. I don’t think Jimmy wants our place reeking of maurijana.” Grian explained, pausing the show to really hit the nail into Sam’s stubborn head. 

Sam was quiet. For too long. 

“Is Jimmy more important than me?” 

If Grian had a gun, he’d shoot himself in the head right there. 

“Think what you want to think.” Grian replied, unpausing the show with shaky hands. 

Later, Jimmy awoke groggy from his nap. His bedhead was more out of control than Grian’s and it really seemed like a pain to maintain. Sam had left minutes ago, thank god, after the silence got too unbearable. 

Grian’s mood felt sour. He just wanted the day to pass faster. He wished his mind worked at a two times pace. He wished he was more mature and taller. He watched Jimmy disappear into the bathroom, listening for the sound of the door shutting, wallowing pathetically as he melted into the couch. 

Sam never used to get on his nerves so easily. 

Maybe this was just where they got too close. The test in long term relationships that if you muster through, you know they’re the one. Maybe if they went on more dates. Went to dinner instead of bars or Sam’s basement where Grian got second hand high. Maybe they just needed a break. Maybe it was the concussion. 

His phone was face up, dark with no notifications because he had none and no coming.

His heart slightly ached under the piercing yellow light. On the TV an oversexualized teenage anime girl was talking in an unnaturally high voice for her age. He heard city-typical traffic from the streets below them. His chest drilled a hole for him to bury himself in. 

He didn’t even notice when Jimmy plopped down next to him until he felt the couch cushions shift to accommodate both their weights, but he didn’t react either. It was Jimmy’s home too. 

“I didn’t know you watched anime.” Jimmy commented, harmless, but Grian couldn’t help but feel annoyed that he actually had to muster up a reply. Sam’s footsteps still lingered all to sour Grian’s mood. 

“In college I watched a lot of it.” Grian hummed, not even looking at the screen. 

Jimmy nodded, “I was never the anime typa-guy, but my best friends were all throughout middle and high school. They made me watch with them when we hung out.” He said, “One, his name was Martyn, wore this Naruto headband to school without any shame.”

Grian’s eyes turned to Jimmy for a short moment, quick but Jimmy still caught it. 

“Martyn… IntTheLittleWood?” Grian asked, watching Jimmy’s face for an early answer.

He recalled Martyn and his longtime love for anime, mostly shonen, specifically Naruto. Weren’t he and Jimmy around the same age? Jimmy turned towards Grian with his mouth slightly agape. His smile might’ve been infectious if not killer.

“You know Martyn?” Jimmy asked.

Grian shrunk and shrugged at the sudden light emitting from Jimmy’s psych. Jimmy might’ve had a pickaxe the way he must’ve struck gold. 

“He’s a regular at the bar I work at.” Grian replied. 

Jimmy hummed. A knowing, planning hum. 

“What time is your shift?”

–+–

“Gree-on fell asleep doing homework…” A hushed younger voice said into the shaky audio of a camera. A pixelated dorm room was illuminated by an ugly yellow hew. Video game posters lines white walls, navy sheets needed a wash, there were two single beds so close together it looked like a better quality prison. On one desk was a wreck of paper, food, and school supplies. The other a baby-faced Grian was head down on a notebook, pencil resting awkwardly in his hand. An open physics textbook taunting him as he snored.

The camera, likely digital, got shoved closer to Grian’s soft snores. 

“I told him he should’ve gone to that party last night…” The voice, Sam continued.

Grian was butt first on the dirty ground of the back on his break. 

He was watching a video Sam had sent him. One of many from when Sam was obsessed with documenting their college’s days with a stupid digital camera. There was no explanation for the sudden bombardment of old videos, but nevertheless Grian appreciated it. To him it highlighted the years they knew each other, loved one another, and were young enough to where nothing they did had to make sense. 

He stared at the finished video for too long probably.

It was taken before Sam got hardcore into that type of crowd. 

His voice was energized, he wasn’t stopping mid sentence because he physically couldn’t speak, he sounded affectionate like a lover when he said Grian’s name incorrectly as ever. Grian imagined Sam liked him better then, maybe not himself. 

If Pearl were to see, she’d think he was a freak if she didn’t already. 

It always got him sentimental to think about he and Sam’s college days, especially when things were so much more mature and real now. It’s not like he didn’t understand. He knew what those things did to people. He knew from first hits he regretted and burying himself into the background as cops busted a grassy college party. He knew they were made to be addictive. 

He played the video again, watching for the details of the floor and the walls. His beat up shower slippers and yellow-soled Converse. Sam’s Vans. The way the trashcan was idly creaked open because that’s how it stayed after Sam’s habit of stepping on the pedal too hard. Their school’s watermark on the rented out textbooks they used. 

His hair was shaggy and longer then. He played with it, pulling a strand to see how far it stretched before it couldn’t. He wondered how much older he looked now. 

When the clock hit eight, he ruffled his hair and tucked in his uniform. He stuffed his buzzing phone in his pocket, hearing the familiar clanking of plates and the beating of their microwave. He heard the drunken chatter of customers, Cleo’s infectious belly laugh. Among the many voices he heard Pearl's Aussie accent like a calling. 

Sure, he hated working there, but he enjoyed the pattern it brought him. 

He returned alongside Pearl, looking for the unattended customers, when his eyes fell on a face he couldn’t pin point exactly but recognized. It was a face too sober to be one of Sam’s friends. It wasn’t one of Jimmy’s or a regular or a semi regular. It wasn’t even a peer from his recluse-esque college days. But who else could it be in Grian’s small world? He marched over towards the unattended customers, trying to keep his eyes peeled to each. For the tip and to not seem like a weirdo. 

Mixing a Jack ‘n Coke for the millionth time, Grian threw his head into work. He needed a distraction really, it was good for him. His brain had too much to process that night. Jimmy was gonna show up to his workplace with Martyn, and maybe more depending on how social Jimmy wanted to be. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Pearl nudged, shifting ice into a glass. 

Grian almost flinched.

“Sam sent me some old videos.” He replied.

“From college?”

“Yeah.”

Pearl hummed.

“I can’t imagine how you were in college.” She said, thoughts escaping her mouth.

Grian was perplexed. Wasn’t he the exact same? He just looked older. He placed a drink order to the orderer. 

“My hair was too long then, but otherwise I’m the same.” He shrugged.

Pearl smiled a disbelieving look at Grian, eyebrow raised. 

“I don’t believe you.” She said, “You’re telling me you were tired and bored in college of all places?” 

Grian shrugged, again. 

“Yeah.” 

“Were you dating Sam then?”

“Yeah.” 

She nodded, “Then that explains things.”

Grian kicked her shin, making sure the drink she was delivering was safely in the hands of the bar counter first. 

“Quit it.” He said, as annoyance bubbled within him. 

Pearl only rolled her eyes, laughing to herself as she returned to her ordering post. 

–+–

“Are you clear to be working yet?” 

Grian perked up, counting tip money in his pocket. 

Was that… the hospital doctor? Shit. He’d forgotten about the hospital visit all together, or mostly blocked it out. His body could heal itself if it got bad enough. He looked at the doctor, now in casual clothes, rather than the khaki pants, and tie in dress shirt. The man’s face was the same as ever, hair without gel, he looked a bit different, however. 

“It’s just work, it won’t kill me.” He replied, “Did you want a drink?”

The doctor (Dr. Goodtimes?) shook his head, “I’m just waiting for a coworker, what do you have for diet sodas?” 

Grian supposed this doctor was a health nut. 

“We have diet Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, and Sprite.” He replied. 

Dr. Goodtimes nodded, “I’ll take a diet Dr. Pepper.” 

–+–

When Martyn pulled into the bar’s tight parking lot, Jimmy couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy. Behind thin double doors and worn sidewalk, was Grian outside of their usual apartment setting. An open sign flashed on and off in a window revealing a blurry background of a brown wooden counter with black stools. It looked like a mid-winter movie scene. Just enough people inside of the bar to not make it seem overcrowded, but enough was happening to where there was this sense of privacy.

When Jimmy stomped the snow off his boots, he searched for the familiar head of hair. He saw Grian’s car in the lot, perfectly backed in between poorly parked college student’s BMWs. 

Surveying the two other bartenders on duty, he found Grian to be the only guy. He led Martyn to empty seats in Grian’s section, a little less filled than the others’. 

Inside the bar was cozier than Jimmy would’ve guessed. There was a faux Christmas tree in the back, with bottle cap ornaments decorating it with white lights. Framed photos of the bar’s construction and photos of semi-famous people that had been in the place littered the walls fittingly. There were some individual tables for two or four, a couple eating a pre-frozen appetizer at one with cans of Budlight to top it all off. The low ceiling made everything feel closer than it was.

“And I thought I was the regular.” Martyn scoffed, humming to the chest-stabbing Christmas song playing softly over the lively drunk chatter.

Jimmy didn’t reply, waving at Grian when he passed. Grian gave Jimmy a curt nod, too busy shaking together a drink in his silver mixer cup to really look at him. And Jimmy was okay with that. 

Martyn ended up trailing to Cleo’s side of the bar, leaving Jimmy to wait alone for Grian to approach him. 

Watching Grian work kept the wait more bearable. He was casual with it, creating small conversations that ended as soon as he turned, giving curt smiles and thanks to those who handed him cash tip to pocket. He made sure nobody waited that long. Not even him. 

When Grian approached, Jimmy froze. 

“Hey Tim.” Grian said, “You showed?” 

Jimmy shrugged, wincing at the name mix-up. He would have to correct Grian later. He knew a nickname like that would stick like glue to Joel’s messed up head.

“Martyn’s with Cleo.” He replied.

“Figures.” Grian scoffed, “Did you know what you wanted yet?”

Jimmy blanked and Grian laughed. Really laughed. He wanted to look up and see what it looked like when Grian wasn’t pissed off at Sam or just tired, but embarrassment crept up his spine.

“I’ll give you more time.” Grian said. 

–+–

A few days later, Grian’s mood was a pour again. 

Jimmy didn’t know why. Sam hadn’t been over, and maybe that was it, but he wouldn’t assume. The TV was off, and Grian had pushed himself to the corner of his couch, eyes glued to a phone that hadn’t changed its screen in minutes. The phone light in Grian’s face didn’t change once, Jimmy meant it. 

He’d been trying to be casual, sneaking glances at the black screen TV, to Grian, then back to the bacon he was pan frying for a meal prep idea he had. But if Grian was one thing he wasn't stupid. Jimmy thought Grian could go quite far if he continued his education past what he had. Then again, they all could’ve. Life was expensive like that. 

The quiet was never really quiet, the city bustling in honks, chatter, and dogs barking. But it was definitely suffocating, the air squeezing around them. 

The thing is, Jimmy couldn’t gauge how close Grian considered now. Jimmy had visited Grian at work, Jimmy had invited him (forced him) to watch Severance, Jimmy had bought him extra treats from his exhibitions. But Grian hadn’t changed much himself. He was more playful, replying to Jimmy so it didn’t feel like he was talking to a brick wall. He would jab at him occasionally, and even brought back leftover bar appetizers back due to them being a few days to expiration. He did make an effort, but it still felt like they existed in different worlds, even with the slow building web of connections. 

Jimmy didn’t see Grian eat much, so he wasn’t sure how down he’d be for the spare near-frozen bacon pieces. But Jimmy had gone out to buy his own groceries and a few things for he and Grian to share just a few hours before. He recalled buying discounted strawberry shortcake bars, a pack of eight, a few weeks out to expiration.

Wouldn’t an ice cream cheer anyone up?

Jimmy peered over his shoulder to read Grian’s face again and it was still a fixable sad, so he  resolutely opened their bare freezer for the box of bars. He noticed that it was a retaped box, explaining its clearance but Jimmy didn’t care. In college he’d eat foods weeks past their best by date and he was fine except for when his stomach said it wasn’t.

He opened one for himself, taking a bite for a test, and it tasted fine. It was cold with the familiar crunch of the outer shell. Maybe they were a little freezer burnt, but who cared?

He walked Grian’s way with an unopened one, turning off the stove because a fire would just make everything worse, and plopped down on the couch as he often did.

Grian didn’t look his way, not really. It was like Jimmy’s presence was ghostly at that moment.

“Do you want an ice cream?” Jimmy held it out, trying to judge if he was awkwardly too close or not at all. He was never sure. 

Grian shook his head. 

“I’m good, thank you.” He replied. 

Jimmy frowned. 

“Is everything okay?” He didn’t really want to press but Grian usually at least looked at him. He knew he and Sam were complicated, but seeing his roommate so dejected Jimmy didn’t think he could keep watching much longer. 

Grian put his phone down and stared at the floor, eyes considering speaking out with an equal force telling him not to. It was he and Sam’s business, no one else needed to know. That’s what Grian thought but his head ached and he recalled his last interaction with Sam to be scary. Scarier than Sam driving drunk or doing the risky cheap drugs. Scarier than when he comes close to death, drug-induced or self-inflected.

Grian looked at Jimmy, finally, to find that the man’s eyes had never left him. It was reassuring, though Grian’s chest bubbled with embarrassment. He felt like a child being spoken to by his teacher. He was older than Jimmy yet he couldn’t help but want to spill over. He wasn’t even sure Jimmy knew how to relationship, not that he was the best at it either. 

Eventually, after watching Jimmy convert into a puppy with his eyes, Grian sighed. 

“Don’t… tell anyone.” Grian said, knowing Jimmy wouldn’t but he wanted to make sure. 

Jimmy nodded, face lit up.

“Sam… He’s been… Uh—” Grian really didn’t know how to word it, “He’s just getting… aggressive, I guess.” He admitted, regretting saying a thing as he watched Jimmy’s face drop. 

“Agressive?” Jimmy placed the extra icecream down, sitting in a serious way because, fuck, this was serious. 

Grian shrugged, “Well, you know he’s usually not sober; which is… fine. As long as he’s stable. But I guess he’s been more pushy and to him it’s like, ‘his way or the highway’ and he didn’t used to be like that.” He pondered about how crazy he sounded. “This might be stupid—”

“It’s not.” Jimmy cut him off, “Has he… gotten physical? If I can ask.” 

Grian was silent enough for the answer to be clear to Jimmy. 

“We’re about the same size, I mean, he’s taller I guess. So–”

“Grian, mate, that’s not what I asked.” Jimmy knew what the answer was at this point, but he wanted to hear it straight. 

Grian paused, staring at Jimmy, but not his eyes. 

“Kind of.”

“Kind of what?”

“He… He grabbed me really hard last night. He didn’t want me to leave, but I had work, you know. And he actually yelled, like loudly, and he said that if I left he didn’t know what he would do.” Grian explained, anxious that Sam could be at the door, angry at him for snitching, to Jimmy of all people. That’s why he didn’t elaborate on the bandaid on his neck, he supposed.

Jimmy just began to let the ice cream melt.

“Thanks for telling me.” He said, “Do you plan to leave him?”

Grian shook his head quickly. 

“No— I couldn’t.” He insisted, “I’ve chalked it up to the rough tides of a long term relationship, I think we can get over it but…” Grian trailed off, not sure of his own words anymore. 

Jimmy was quiet for a moment, for a second or two. 

“Do you have work tomorrow night?” Jimmy asked. 

“Not until late into the night.” Grian replied, perplexed. 

Jimmy nodded, “Lizzie and Joel are hosting a little get together tomorrow. Would you show up with me? Just for a bit, I need a plus one.” He explained. 

Confused, Grian nodded, “Okay.” He replied.

“No Sam.”

Grian nodded, “No Sam.” He repeated.

–+–

Jimmy couldn’t sleep that night. 

How could anyone?

He knew that Grian’s relationship with Sam was rocky and complicated in ways he’d never be able to understand, but surface level it seemed unhealthy. The way Grian’s mood would be completely flipped after Sam left from his unannounced visits, the way Grian never talked much when he was over. The lingering smell of watermelon vape lasted on Grian’s clothes and sometimes it made Jimmy want to throw up. But hearing… that, he didn’t really know what to do. This was out of his jurisdiction. Most relationship things were. All he could do was try to distract Grian, in that moment, what else could he do?

As he washed his face, he glanced at Grian’s belongings that were tucked away in a tote, everything was. It made their arrangement feel temporary sometimes, but Jimmy knew better. He wondered if Sam was that hygienic. He was probably more hygienic than Sam. 

The man always seemed cold, as if he didn’t care about anything in the world except maybe Grian sometimes on the occasion where he was feeling clingy. It was usually when Jimmy was around that Sam would do a 180, and be all up in Grian’s space as if to show some sort of dominance over Jimmy. 

It was gross.

Sam was gross, Jimmy concluded.

–+–

Grian’s tongue stung in the metaphorical way. Like it was all cut up and dirt was digging into the wounds. His head spun with the remaining symptoms of a concussion and the sheer idea of his words. He wasn’t even sure of what he said. 

Maybe Sam was having a bad day. A bad day during a rough patch of his relationship. Maybe he was having withdrawals of something he’d taken without Grian’s knowledge. Maybe he was hangry. Maybe he was thinking too much of his mom again. Maybe Grian had said something wrong, cut the wrong color cord. Maybe it was one of Sam’s pathetic fucking friends. 

Grian felt stupid, he felt a little insecure too. 

When had he begun to know Sam so little  he couldn’t tell what was wrong? 

He replayed the scary moment in his head again:

He was getting up to leave, Grian. He was tired and there was no one to stay for anymore, besides the greened out Sam who sat on the couch watching a baking show he wouldn’t remember in the morning. 

Sam hadn’t looked at him for at least an hour now. He’d barely move except to take a bathroom break. He didn’t even grab any snacks or order take out for them. 

So Grian thought it was okay to leave. He really did. 

He always left when it got too quiet, it was like their mutual agreement.

But when he stood, Sam did too. 

Grian looked at Sam confused, the man could barely stand an hour ago. He supposed Sam’s shakiness while standing showed enough.

“Sam?”

Sam blinked. 

“Are you leaving?”

Grian nodded, but Sam was too high to register that Grian did so. 

“I am.” Grian replied, “It’s getting late.”

Sam took a step towards him and that was scary. Grian didn’t mean to slightly brace himself, but he found himself doing so as Sam took another shaky step towards him. Eventually Sam got closer enough to hug Grian, and he did. It took Grian a few seconds to ease into the hug. He was scared Sam was going to barf on him. He didn’t want Sam on his clothes. 

It was a one-sided hug, Sam grasping onto Grian like if he didn’t he would disappear. 

“Can you sleep over?” Sam asked. 

Grian paused. They hadn’t done that in years, probably. Were they middle schoolers?

Grian hummed, “Sam…” He began, but Sam hugged him tighter, almost trapping Grian. “Please let go, I have work tomorrow.” He didn’t, but did Sam need to know that?

“Call out.” Sam said, loosening his grip and just resorting to holding onto one of Grian’s wrists for stability. 

Grian shook his head. 

“Sam.”

“Call out.” Sam insisted, harsher this time. 

Grian was sad to recognize the state of Sam in the moment, but that didn’t make it any less scary. 

“Rent’s due, I can’t.” He explained. 

But Sam didn’t take that. He shook his head like a brat. He pulled Grian’s wrist to try and get him closer but the weed had taken the strength from him. 

“Sam, I have to go. Will you be safe?” 

Sam didn’t seem to register Grian’s words. 

“You can’t leave.” Sam said, “I need you to sleep over.” 

“I can’t.” Grian spoke harshly, trying to get it through to Sam through his intoxicated brain.

Sam let go of Grian to just stare at him. Like he was foreign. Like he didn’t know who he was looking at. Grian gulped, looking at the fading white ring around his wrist where Sam held him. He wondered if  Sam was at full strength, would it bruise? 

“I don’t… know what to do.” Sam said so quiet Grian second-guessed he said anything

“What?”

“I don’t know what to do.” 

Grian shook his head.

“What you need to do is go to sleep.” Grian said, looking at Sam, “Okay? Go to sleep please.” 

Grian turned to leave. He had to leave. He was suffocating here. 

But Sam grabbed the handle over Grian’s hand. 

Grian felt Sam’s shadow lingering not far behind him. He was uncomfortable. He was so uncomfortable. Sam put all the force he could muster to stop Grian from opening the door. If he was at full strength, it might’ve hurt. 

“Sam.” Grian said, feeling as if he was talking to himself at this point. 

While prying Sam’s hand off of his, he felt a hot breath on his neck. Grian probably reeked of Sam now. He winced as he finally got the other’s hand off of him until…

“SAM!” Grian yelled, shoving Sam off of him by instinct.

Sam had bit him, right on the collarbone where it hurt. 

Grian felt his whole body shaking at this point. 

He might’ve ran out of that house, but he wasn’t sure. He might’ve been crying when he pulled out of the driveway. He might’ve sped through the roads, but did that really matter? He knew he shed a tear when he turned into his apartment complex, but he wasn’t sure. He just knew Sam had bit him, and hard. He knew it was bruising in every waking second of his night routine. He felt it draw blood as he washed his face with the stupid expensive Japanese cleanser. He felt it when he ate a sad lonely dinner in the dark apartment. He didn’t want to look at his phone. 

When the bite mark was there the next morning, he wanted to cry. It proved to him that last night was real, even when Grian tried to convince himself that it wasn’t. He put a bandaid on it after he sobbed and threw up into the toilet. It wasn’t a pretty scene but that was okay, he supposed. None of this was pretty. 

He wanted to throw up again. 

He didn’t want to pick up his phone.

His door creaked open and it was only one person it could be, but he still made sure it wasn’t Sam. He really didn’t want it to be Sam. And it wasn’t. It was Jimmy. Jimmy with a takeout container that smelt of maple syrup. 

Grian just stared at the wall. He had covered his only window in blinds, but there was sun poking through in lined patterns of light. They made Jimmy wince. 

“What time is it?” He asked, sitting up and trying to flatten his bedhead. 

Jimmy checked his phone, “2 P.M.”

Grian’s eyes widened. 

Shit.

“What… time was that thing you wanted me to go to?” Grian asked cautious, he hadn’t meant to sleep so much. 

He tried to read Jimmy’s face for the category the answer would fall into, but Jimmy just placed down the food at Grian’s bedside wordlessly. Was that for him? The maple syrup smell basically was his whole room now,  but he didn’t mind. 

“It started a few minutes ago, but we can be late, right?” Jimmy asked, smiling at the petrified Grian. 

His eyes widened and he practically jumped out of bed, going for his door when Jimmy’s laugh broke him from it. 

Grian was confused. Jimmy was late because of Grian, why was he laughing?

Jimmy kept laughing until Grian’s tracks stopped. 

“You should eat breakfast first.” Jimmy said, gesturing to the takeout container. 

Grian’s thoughts began to flow again, he had totally forgotten about Sam. He wanted to reject breakfast. He wasn’t hungry. He felt that if he ate anything, he’d just want to throw it all up again. But Jimmy seemed excited about it. 

Grian sighed. 

“I… Do you mind if I just eat it for dinner or something?” Grian asked quietly, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

Jimmy shrugged, “That’s fine.” He said, no malice in his voice. 

Grian was relieved. He went to get ready.

–+–

Jimmy and Grian peered over the bakery items at the grocery store, needing a dessert. They were stumped. 

Jimmy picked up the apple fritters but Grian shook his head. 

“There’s only four in there.” He said. 

Jimmy nodded and put them back. 

Grian picked up a forty pack of assorted cookies.

“Everyone’s gonna bring cookies.” Jimmy moaned.

Grian chuckled, then put them back. 

Jimmy’s eyes trailed past the pre-made goods and to the chillers in the back. Grian followed him all the way to where a chocolate and vanilla ice cream cake was, marked to imply it was someone's birthday in big blue frosting. Grian looked at Jimmy, confused.

“Is it someone’s birthday?” Grian asked.

Jimmy shrugged, “It’s always someone’s birthday.” 

Grian smiled, “Okay.” He said, “Let’s get it.”

They walked out of the store with the cake and multiple birthday wishes. 

–+–

When Jimmy pulled up to the according house, it was huge. Two stories, a driveway big enough to hold the twenty or so cars parked in it. They made it 21. The garden was nice in the home-y way, fruits and vegetables sprouting from the seams, a few flowers, but not too much to make it look too perfect. The paint job seemed to be new, the door wide and welcoming. 

Grian followed behind Jimmy as they walked through the entrance, the sound of chatter immediately drowning them. But that seemed to excite Jimmy. Grian didn’t smell anything he didn’t want to. He didn’t smell Sam or his friends. He didn’t smell Sam. 

The first person to turn to them was someone Grian didn’t recognize, but Jimmy did. 

“Jim!” The man yelled, and loud. 

Jimmy’s smile grew wide, “Oli! Man!” 

So this was Jimmy’s old roommate. 

They shared a hug, the old roommates. Grian’s hands were getting cold with the ice cream cake. He might’ve been going numb but he couldn’t tell. 

“So you’re who replaced me?” Oli joked, breaking the hug and introducing himself to Grian.

Grian nodded, “I guess so.” 

Oli casually took the cake from Grian’s hands, stuffing it into a freezer of a fridge so big it made Grian dizzy. He imagined he looked the most awkward he had in years right now. 

Jimmy led him to a living room with a leather coach as massive as their whole apartment . The ceiling was high with long windows showing a full on skyline. Even the TV a few people were gathered around was huge, taller than Jimmy and Grian. 

There were about six or seven people watching what Grian recognized as Star Wars – The Empire Strikes Back. Grian looked back to Jimmy with an eager expression. 

“Do you like Starwars?” Jimmy asked.

Grian nodded, “It’s my favorite.” 

Grian led the way to the living area. He recognized the man with the green streak in his hair, Joel(?). Joel turned around and gestured for Grian and Jimmy to sit on the carpeted floor next to him, welcoming Grian. 

Grian felt a little weird. He barely knew Joel, and Jimmy for that matter, yet they were nice enough to him to get his guard down. He felt as if he could breathe here. There was no risk of second hand high or that tension between a plus one to a longtime group of friends. This wasn’t like what Grian was used to, he thought. 

Jimmy waved to the others in the group. 

“Grian?” One of them recognized. Grian flinched, just a little. He didn’t expect anyone to recognize him.

It was Martyn, in different, more comfy clothes. 

Grian waved. 

“Grian’s my damn bartender, man!” Martyn announced, understanding noises coming from the others. 

“You usually stick to Cleo.” Grian replied. 

Martyn shrugged, a few ‘oohs’ from the people he didn’t know. 

In the span of a few minutes, he learned a few of the names. Eloise (apparently Oli’s girlfriend), Owen, and Scott (the cafe owner that Grian had heard so much about). Grian found himself jumping into conversation about Starwars. About how the new movies were bad. About their favorite plot points. About meeting the actors. The merch they’ve collected. 

He didn’t even notice when Jimmy left and returned with a beer for them both. 

Grian stared at too long for comfort. 

It reminded him of that night. When he was out of control of everything really. The music, the wheel, his life, Sam. It reminded him of how the pavement was cold and that doctor was colder. He remembered the rainbow lights on the suburban houses. He couldn’t take it in the end. Passing it off to Scott who was more than eager to have another drink.

He hoped no one noticed. 

But no one offered him alcohol in the next hour they were there, so maybe they did. 

When Grian patted his pockets for his phone in a dull moment of conversation, the first in hours, there was nothing. He felt his heart drop to his ass as his hoodie pocket had nothing either. 

Jimmy was away somewhere. Somewhere in the kitchen where he told Grian he’d be, so he had to look for himself. He didn’t think anyone here would be burdened to help. He didn’t know them well. He didn’t know anyone too well for that matter anymore, but that wasn’t something he wanted to think about. 

He went back to the living room, but the table was empty. By the entrance piled with all types of shoes to trip over, there was only too many keys to too many fancy cars. His mind began to race, then. What if Sam had messaged him, and he couldn’t reply? What if Sam was having a bad day again? Grian began to pick at his lip, bolting towards the car and dusting the door behind him. People probably noticed but he could really care less. 

When he spotted his car he unlocked it with the key as fast as he could without causing damage to her certainly well-loved vehicle. He scrambled all over the seats, looking under the cushions in every crevice. 

His back ached and the blood rushing to his head wouldn’t be fun to sleep off later, but he wasn’t thinking straight. He knew it. He opened the glove compartment, triple-checked every under-seat, and even checked the trunk. He found crumbs, ran-through lighters, plastic bags, and beer cans. No phone. 

He wanted to throw up again. 

He stood at the back of his beat-up car, leaning onto the closed trunk like it’ll offer something if he prayed hard enough. His head was hurting now. He looked back to the door of the house to find no one looking for him. No one waiting. No one checking. And then it set in. 

Grian was lonely. 

Grian was very, very lonely. 

He bet Jimmy would have a million people waiting, waving, happy to see his face. Scott, Joel, Lizzie too. But not him. Grian was just a self-isolating loser with a rocky relationship and nothing to live for. How could he forget? Jimmy was just taking pity on his fragile heart. Jimmy was just too nice for Grian to get used to. 

He really wanted to leave now. He wanted to drive to a park and cry through the dead trees. He wanted to plug headphones into his ears and shut out everything that made sense. Maybe he could just take the Sam route and forget the joys of being sober. He peered at his wallet in the cup holder inside the car.

Maybe Sam was onto somethi—

“Grian?” It was Joel. 

Grian paused, guilty as charged. 

Joel frowned at him, “You good?” 

Grian stood up normally and heard his back crack. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He replied, “I… Just needed a breather.” He explained. 

Joel nodded as if he understood, but Grian would bet money he didn’t. Joel seemed to be the life of the party in there, dancing, laughing, taking sips of punch like he had nowhere to be in the morning. 

“I get it.” Joel said, “They’re a pretty crazy group, huh?” 

And you add to it, Grian wanted to say, but he didn’t. 

“Yeah.” Grian looked at the ground and kicked dirt.

Joel’s eyes fell onto Grian again and it was too quiet for comfort. It wasn’t like how Sam or his friends looked at Grian, almost disgusted and for Sam, occasionally lustful if he was high enough. It was concern. Grian hated concern. 

Grian looked forward to see through a window peering into the kitchen. He saw red cups in hand, cheeks up to smile for real. He felt foolish for ever thinking he could be part of something like that. He wasn’t built for fun. 

“Are you uncomfortable?” Joel asked suddenly, breaking the silence. 

Grian looked at Joel for a moment, before kicking dirt. 

“Yeah.” He admitted, “But it’s no one’s fault but mine.” He explained. 

Joel pursed his lips. 

“Well.” He began, “I like you here. Jimmy seems happier.”

Grian didn’t expect that. 

But Joel continued, “He likes having someone with him at all times, so, thanks for looking out for him.” He said.

But only Grian knew it was completely the opposite. Jimmy was the one that bought Grian food every now and then. Jimmy consoled Grian. Jimmy distracted Grian. What did Grian do? Leech?

He didn’t reply to Joel. 

“You should come to these more.” Joel said. 

Grian hummed. 

“I mean it.” Joel insisted. 

Grian knew he did. 

–+–

On the way back home, Grian was at the wheel. Music he liked played on the radio. His phone was in the cupholder, found by Jimmy in a crevice of the couch. Jimmy was definitely out of it, though, a lightweight to Grian’s surprise. He was slumped against the passenger seat, rambling to Grian about seeing someone he didn’t want to see there. How he felt fat and bloated with everything he’d drank and eaten. It was funny for a while. 

Grian supported Jimmy out of the car, letting the man stumble to a stand. 

It was a little weird to see Jimmy drunk, but Grian didn’t mind. Despite how goofy and unserious he tried to come off, Jimmy always seemed crazy perfect. It was… fun to see Jimmy not pretending. Grian remembered to lock his car before trailing next to Jimmy all the way to the entrance. He had to practically steer Jimmy to the elevator and exchanged a short smile with the front desk. 

He watched the elevator tick up and up until the familiar number flashed in pixelated red, ushered Jimmy out, and fiddled for his key in his pocket. Or that's what he wanted to do.

He almost sent Jimmy flying when he let go of his roommate, but what could he do? A Sam, tall and sober, was sitting against the door to Grian and Jimmy’s apartment. He was on his phone casually, like he’d been waiting. 

Grian felt his whole body tense up. 

“Grian, I never noticed, is that a bandaid on your neck?” Jimmy asked, at the completely wrong time of all things. 

Grian wanted to throw up again.

Sam turned his head their way, and stood up, joints cracking because of his lack of shape. Grian felt the bile rise and rise. He stared at Jimmy, his drunken state. He was basically alone. With Sam. He didn’t want to be alone with Sam. 

“Jim, you’ve gotta go into the apartment yourself, okay?” Grian asked, pressing the cold key into Jimmy’s clammy palm. 

Jimmy nodded, looking behind Grian to see Sam. 

Jimmy stopped and Grian knew he did without having to look. 

“Jim, please go in.” 

Sam seemed confused, not angry, which relieved Grian more than it should’ve. 

Jimmy eventually stumbled his way into their place, not before glaring at Sam like he was the devil. He hoped Sam didn’t notice. 

Grian only mustered up words to say when the apartment door slowly shut behind Jimmy. He stared at Sam who refused to look at him, almost ashamed. 

“Hey Sam.” He said, crossing his arms to stand some ground, or to protect himself. 

Sam pursed his lips, likely debating on the right thing to say. Did he know he was wrong? Grian hoped so. 

“Grian.” Sam said, his voice a desperate mew almost, “I… don’t remember anything from last night.” He admitted. 

Grian didn’t reply. He couldn’t. So he was the only one to recall that? He’d be the only one that had to carry that moment with him for a lifetime? It was annoying. So annoying. Grian wanted to punch something. 

“–But, when I… woke up and— stuff, I just felt really, really sorry.” Sam admitted, “So I know I did something, but I don’t know what. I just know I’m sorry, okay?” He paused, “I’m sorry.” 

Grian stared at Sam as he crumbled. 

“Do you wanna know?” 

Sam perked up.

“Hm?”

“What you did. Do you want me to tell you?” Grian asked, feeling like a bit of a dick now, holding it over Sam’s stupid head. 

Sam hesitated. 

“If… it helps you forgive me.” He replied.

Grian nodded. 

“You put your hands on me.” Grian said, “Tried to stop me from leaving.” It was harder to express than Grian thought. He felt weak. He’d let another man do that to him, while being a man himself. Wasn’t that pathetic?

Sam’s defeated expression just grew and grew. 

Sam began to cry. 

“I’m so sorry, Gri, I am.” He spoke between sobs. 

“You bit me too.” Grian tilted his neck to show where he had put the bandaid. 

Sam just began to sob on the carpet floor of their apartment hallway, falling onto his knees and making wailing sounds like he was a baby. 

Grian watched him where he stood, baffled. Was this the same man that bought Grian a video game he wanted after Grian was mad at him for a silly little comment he’d made? It was embarrassing to watch. He hoped for no one to walk up and see this. Jimmy had already seen enough. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Sam muttered unintelligibly more times than Grian could decipher. 

It was like watching a toddler have a meltdown. 

“Sam.” Grian said, trying to get his disheveled boyfriend’s attention, “SAM!” 

Sam perked up from the ground. 

“It’s… okay.” Grian said, “You’re okay.”

He wasn’t sure if he meant that or not, but his cheeks were burning red with embarrassment. He was beginning to feel like a bad guy now, he really was.

Sam’s sobs subsided after another minute or so. 

“Just… Will you promise to not do it again?” 

Grian felt his gut twist to his own words. He wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore. 

Sam shook his head fast enough to probably give him a headache.

“Yes! I promise.” He said, “On my life, I promise.” 

Grian narrowed his eyes at Sam. 

“Okay.” He said, “Never again?”

“Never again.”

–+–

Pearl gawked at Grian like he was stupid criminal. 

“You did what?” She asked. 

Grian sighed, hands over his eyes, “I took him back.” He replied exasperatedly. 

Pearl had to take a deep breath to remain calm. The dumpster and the wall in front of them were probably judging too. The cigarette buds on the ground, the lighters, the vapes. Pearl saw the regret on Grian’s face and chuckled. 

“I mean, you’re clearly unhappy about your decision, so why?” Pearl asked, genuinely curious.

Grian shrugged, “He was sorry, Pearl.” 

Pearl scoffed, “Was he really?” 

“He was sobbing-on-the-floor sorry.” Grian explained, “Like he was on the ground balling his eyes out saying it over and over.”

That didn’t seem to help his case. Pearl just looked at Grian with pity-angry eyes. 

“That’s…” Pearl bit her tongue. 

“He’s sorry, Pearl.” 

Pearl shook her head, “Suit yourself, then. It’s your relationship. Just… try to stay safe, okay? You have my number if he ever does something.” 

“He won’t. He said he won’t.”

Pearl threw her hands up and walked back into the bar.

Grian stayed for an extra minute, wallowing in the silence of his thoughts.

—+—

Grian’s ears were ringing in a good way

Loud Gaga songs were playing into his ear from every direction. He was body to body with people he didn’t know. His mind was smooth, knowing he was going to forget this all later. He’d usually hate this, but he was buzzed. Sam offered him a drink, then another, then another. He was medium-weight, so the drinks eventually got to him. 

He was keeping tabs on Sam, watching his boyfriend rack up a tab that would fall onto the maxed out credit card his mom gave him to shut him and his addictions up. Grian didn’t quite mind, not when he was as exhilarated as he was.

A woman, likely a tad younger than Grian, tapped him on the shoulder. She smiled at him with her orange hair.  She seemed barely familiar. 

“You know this song?” She asked, basically screaming to be heard about a whisper. 

Grian nodded, “Who doesn’t?” He yelled back. 

They danced awkwardly next to each other, the redhead stumbling to the booze. 

“Were you in the hospital last month?” She yelled.

Grian shook his head, “I was!” He replied. 

“I think I was your nurse!” The redhead said, “I’m Gem, remember?” 

Grian didn’t remember. 

“Yeah, I remember you!” 

Gem’s face lit up, “Then come sit at the bar with me!”

–+–

“–accused me of lying! Which I was, but doctors are supposed to be super nice, right? It really irked me. I can’t believe he’s got such good reviews! Did I just get him on a bad day?” Grian ranted, thinking back to the doctor. 

Gem laughed, hard. She burped too. 

“Scar? No, Scar is the best! You just made him mad probably!” She replied. 

Grian shook his head, “By lying?”

“What?” Gem asked.

“By lying?” Grian repeated. 

It was very loud at all flawed angles of the two. 

“Yeah, probably!” 

That made sense, Grian supposed. But he still didn’t like the guy. 

“Or he thought you were pretty!” Gem suddenly suggested. 

Grian denied that idea too fast. It made no sense. He had never been asked out, never been the type to be crushed on. Sam asking him out was a miracle disguised in thin plastic. He wasn’t attractive like that. He wasn’t, trust him, he would know.

“No way!” He replied. 

“Yes way!” Gem replied, “You’re goodlooking!” 

Grian laughed, hard, “Is someone paying you to say this?” He yelled. 

“Whattt? No! Have some confidence!” 

“I have confidence where it matters!” Grian replied. 

“Well what I meant is that Scar might’ve found you cute! He gets awkward when he sees someone he likes!” Gem explained again.

Grian shook his head, “I have a boyfriend!”

“Is that him?” Gem yelled, gesturing to Sam who was approaching Grian rapidly enough to sober his mind just a bit. 

“Yeah!” Grian replied, turning to Sam’s visibility. 

Sam smiled at him and Grian liked that Sam was smiling now. 

After their… fight, if you could call it that, Sam had been getting better. The man often credited Grian for that, Grian and his forgiveness. Sam had switched to smoking once a week, confessing his other urges to Grian when the thoughts plagued his head. Sam still vaped, but Grian was fine with that. Sam still drank, but so did Grian, so what was the issue? 

“I called an uber!” Sam said. 

Grian nodded, “Okay! Let me know when it’s close!” 

Gem narrowed her eyes on Sam, watching his back as he walked through the people to the front of the club. Grian paid no mind. He was happy Sam was better. In fact, they had a dinner with Sam’s mother in a few days, initiated by Sam’s mother. 

“Is he the same one from then?” Gem asked. 

“From when?”

“The hospital!” 

Grian nodded. 

Gem was quiet for a second. 

“You wanna know something?” 

Grian perked up, but Gem had stopped talking. Her face turned regretful in just a second. A drunken slip. Grian was intrigued now. 

“What?” He asked.

But Gem shook her head.

“No! Say it!” He insisted. 

Gem thought about it. 

“Well… You can’t be mad, okay?” She began.

Grian nodded slowly.

“We originally had you down as a case of possible domestic violence!” She admitted. 

Grian didn’t think he heard that right.

“What?”

Gem was hesitant to say it, “We.. originally had you down for suspected DV… But I didn’t tell you that!”

Grian agreed to Gem’s terms with an acknowledging thumbs up. But his mind was stuck on  Gem’s words. 

He heard Sam trail behind him again.

DV… as in domestic violence? 

Surely he and Sam didn’t have a dynamic like that.

“Gre, uber’s almost here.” Sam said. 

So Grian followed him. 

He waved bye to Gem on his way out.

–+–

“You should quit your job.” Sam said.

Grian attempted to remove his head from Sam’s lap, but Sam pushed him back with a light force. Grian could’ve gotten up if he wanted to, he was sure. 

“Why?” Grian asked. 

“My mom said she wanted to pay off your loans.” Sam said, watching Grian’s face for a reaction. 

Grian tried to sit up again, wanting to get up and hug Sam. Because, fuck, Grian had over a hundred thousand dollar in loans with a million more to pay in interest. If those were paid off… 

But Sam pushed him down again, with more force. Grian exasperatedly sighed. 

“Let me get up.” Grian groaned, “I really wanna hug you.” 

Sam shook his head. 

“I like you here.” 

Grian rolled his eyes. 

“Would she actually do that?” He asked, “She never messaged me about this.”

Sam nodded, “Because you saved me, she said.”

Grian blushed, “Don’t say that.”

“You forgave me.” 

“Yeah but that didn’t save you, did it?”  Grian asked, locking eyes with Sam.

“It did.” Sam replied, “I don’t know why you never believe me.” 

Grian was silent, thinking about the offer, “But… I have to quit my job?”

Sam paused, trying to think of how to word his next line.

“Not if you don’t want to. I just mean because there’s no more loans for you to pay off.” Sam shrugged. 

Grian hummed, “Well I still have to pay rent for this place. And food. And insurance.” He gestured to he and Jimmy’s  apartment, to the couch they were relaxing on. 

Sam didn’t nod as if he understood. 

“Sam?”

Sam looked at Grian, “What about my house?”

“What about your house?” 

Grian knew where this was going, but he needed to hear it from Sam’s mouth. He didn’t have an answer, but the idea…

“You could move in. With me.” Sam suggested.

Grian wasn’t sure what he thought of that. He liked Jimmy. If he had too much of Sam for the day, it was nice to go home and see someone not in the slightest associated with Sam. He loved Sam. He loved Sam a lot. But this was working right now for them, so what was the point of changing things? 

He liked talking to Joel and Lizzie when they came over. Even Oli came over last week, and that was fun. They played Uno, watched movies, and had mini potlucks. Scott and his new boyfriend came over for a few hours too. It was nice to see another couple, similar to Grian and Sam at least. 

They never asked about Sam either, for better or for worse. He had thought about inviting Sam, but they definitely weren’t Sam’s crowd. 

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Grian replied, “I’m pretty comfortable right now, I think.”

He hoped Sam was okay with that answer.

–+–

While stuffing his face with Oreo-flavored popcorn, Grian, Jimmy, Joel, and Oli sat surrounding themselves in too much junk food to be healthy. Powdered donuts, English biscuits and mini cakes from their local European market, soggy french fries, and barbecue chips. 

They were doing another Star Wars marathon, with a mini Nerf Gun war after. Little boy things. Except they were older and immature. Sam would call it immature, but Grian didn’t really care. 

“Guess who I saw at the club two nights ago.” Grian said, mouthful.

“Who?” Oli and Jimmy replied at the same time. 

Grian tapped at the table trying to find out how to explain it to the newer faces of his life. 

“Well, I’ve just recently recovered from this concussion I had.” He revealed, earning a ‘yay’ from Jimmy, “But basically, they found me on the ground in the suburbs outside the city, on a random street. And I was freezing and I guess I had hit my head because when I woke up in the hospital–” 

Joel put his hand up. 

“You were, where?” He asked.

“At the hospital.” Grian shrugged. 

“No, why were you unconscious on a random street?” Joel asked. 

Grian paused, “Oh. I was drunk.” He explained plainly, he hadn’t even told Jimmy what really happened that night.

“Well that still makes no sense.” Joel said. 

Grian shrugged. Did anything?

“Well, anyway. I saw the nurse that I had assigned to me, at the club.” 

Their eyes widened.

“Aren’t nurses not allowed to do that?” Oli asked. 

Jimmy shook his head, “I think it depends.” 

“Well she was also breaking multiple confidentiality things probably. She told me a lot.” Grian explained, “Not to mention the rude doctor I had went to the bar I work at too.”

The group nodded.

“It’s a small world.” Jimmy commented with his mouth full. 

“If Scott was here he’d probably start singing that one Disney song.” Grian added. 

The group nodded in agreement. 

–+–

“Do you actually like your job?” Sam asked, smoking a blunt. 

Grian winced to the harsh smell of it, shaking his head. 

“I do. The regulars are nice and my co-workers are cool.” Grian replied. 

“Then why do you complain about it so much?” Sam asked.

Grian shrugged, “Every job has its downsides.” 

You wouldn’t know. Grian wanted to add, but he didn’t. 

“Why are you asking about this again?” Grian asked, genuinely curious. 

Sam hummed. 

“Just curious.” 

“Well, then, enlighten me.” Grian joked. 

Sam rolled his eyes, “I’m just curious!” He replied, getting a little defensive now. “You always complain about creeps and customers that don’t tip, so I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Grian threw his arms up.

“I get it, I get it.”  He replied, when he didn’t. 

Sam hadn’t worked a day in his life. Sam knew close to nothing about customer service either, so maybe Grian was a little fed up. 

“And you still don’t want to move in with me?”

Grian shook his head, “I told you, I’m comfy.”

Sam took another hit and the smell intensified again. 

“I’m gonna go to your bar tonight.”

Grian nodded in acknowledgement.

–+–

Grian propped a tote bag of necessities in the bar's backroom. He heard the chatter outside, the lively complaints about life and everything it comes with. He stared at the chipped paint hidden behind walls of the things that killed Sam’s soul. 

Honestly, he was scared Pearl and Sam would get into a fight or something, or just Sam. Call him anxious, but he didn’t want Sam to rain fists on a creep if he caught one of their comments. 

He heard footsteps behind him and knew they were Cleo’s by the click of her flats. 

“What’s the wall got?” She joked, coming up and patting Grian on the back. 

Grian chuckled, “Mold.” 

“You got that right.” 

Grian watched Cleo rein in her orange puff of hair. It was pretty hair, Grian had always thought that. The clientele loved it.

Grian hummed, tracing over his boring appearance. 

Sometimes he wished he had a cool feature like that, but he was never that interesting. Sometimes he wondered what Sam ever saw in him. What anyone saw in him for that matter. He applied a little bit of tinted moisturizer onto his eye bags. He didn’t like when people said he looked tired. He knew he did, he was just a tired looking guy. 

When he walked out, people looked at him, but not really. Maybe someone smiled, but he had already had locked his eyes on the too many familiar faces and wall of alcohol, mixers, and sodas taunting him with their wide eyes. 

For one, he saw Dr. Goodtimes. That motherfucker. He had a stupid diet Dr. Pepper in his hand, sipping it next to Cub, a regular with a tendency to talk too much about science stuff. The man was in casual clothes that hugged him well. Grian couldn’t deny that he was conventionally attractive, the doctor, but he was still a dick. 

That’s why it made zero and a half sense that the doctor thought that Grian was in anyway attractive. 

Then he saw the face of the stupid creep. 

He smiled at Grian like he meant it more than in his dick. 

Grian wanted to curl into a ball and die. He wished Jimmy was here. Or Joel. 

He walked over to his section and examined who was empty handed. He took orders like a stupid gay robot too. A vodka cranberry, a jack ‘n coke, and straight shots of tequila. Some college kids ordered twisted teas and white claws. 

Grian tried his best to avoid the creep, who conveniently didn’t have a drink. 

He noticed Dr. Goodtimes squeeze the can empty and sighed. 

If he had to talk to one of them, it was going to be Dr. Goodtimes, unfortunately. He took one step towards the man, who smiled slyly at Grian like it was supposed to make him swoon. 

“Do you want something else to drink?” Grian asked, gesturing to the dented can in the doctor's model hands.

Dr. Goodtimes shook his head, “Doctors don’t drink.” He said. 

Cub smiled like it was funny, but it wasn’t. 

“Well our policy is that you need to have a drink to sit at the bar.” Grian explained. 

It was kind of a policy. One that they weren’t forced to enforce, but they could if they were feeling petty. Grian was feeling petty today. 

Dr. Goodtimes frowned, “Well, then, what’s your favorite?”

Grian side-eyed the man. 

“I don’t really drink.” He replied. 

The doctor raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really?” 

“Yes.” Grian confirmed, “Were you interested in anything else?” 

Dr. Goodtimes hummed, looked Grian up and down, then smiled harder. 

“Your number?”

…

What?

Grian blanked. 

He laughed. He really laughed. 

Was that drunk nurse right? 

He analyzed the man for seriousness, and found it too fast. In the stupid green eyes that meant business under all his jokes. Cub’s raised brows said something too. 

“I don’t even know your name.” Grian said, shaking his head. 

“It’s Scar.” The doctor said. 

Grian pursed his lips, “Well, Scar, I have a boyfriend, sorry.” 

He wasn’t really sorry. 

Scar sighed an exaggerated sigh. 

“I tried.” He said to Cub as Grian walked away to help out someone else. 

Cub probably nodded in agreement. 

–+–

“Are you going to order something or are you just gonna stare at me?” Grian asked, looking at Sam with judging eyes.

Sam sat in the same seat Scar had been at just an hour earlier, staring at Grian with eyes Grian didn’t want to read. 

The creep had traveled home, thankfully, not after trying to leave Grian a $200 tip. 

Grian had to call Cleo over to shoo him off. 

“Mm, I think I’m good right now.” Sam replied, “I’m just watching out for creeps.”

Grian rolled his eyes, “Yeah? And what are you gonna do?”

Sam shrugged, “Jump them.” 

“Please don’t.” Grian begged, “I need this job.” 

Sam shook his head, “You wouldn’t need a job if you moved in with me.”

Grian was actually annoyed now. How many times do you have to tell a man ‘no’ before they get it? He bet Sam’s number was endless. He glared at Sam. His section was almost empty now. Just two drunk college kids with heart broken eyes. All the action was around Pearl and her whimsy. It usually was. 

“You know my answer.” Grian said. 

“Yeah. I do.” Sam admitted. 

–+–

Grian was at the wheel, tired. 

The dark roads were frosty while the radio played quietly at its highest setting. Sam was vaping again, counting Grian’s tips. 

“Lots of ones.” Sam commented. 

Grian shrugged, “I didn’t work too long tonight.”

Sam flipped through more ones. 

“Oh! There’s a five.” Sam exclaimed.

Grian chuckled.

“And more ones…” Sam hummed, counting under his breath until–

Sam’s eyes widened and Grian paused.

“That’s… not a one.” 

Grian peered to Sam’s lap.

An $100 bill, crisp and clean, sat in Sam’s hands. 

Grian had two guesses on who left it. 

“Who left you this?” Sam asked, slightly impressed with a twinge of jealousy that made Grian’s stomach churn. 

“I… don’t know. A creep probably.”

“A rich one.” 

Grian nodded in agreement. 

Sam’s face shifted, “Wait, there’s a note on the back of it.” 

Shit, Grian bit his lip.

“A note?” Grian asked, trying to play innocent.

Sam’s face darkened as he read each word. Grian watched him, eyes off the road and nervous. He held the wheel tighter, trying to stop his mind from racing.

“For when you change your mind, xxx-xxx-xxxx – Doctor.” Sam read aloud, clenching the money and crumpling it into his hands.

Shit, shit, shit, Grian thought, trying to keep calm. 

“I… don’t know why he would give me that much.” Grian said, “I’ve never talked to him except for when I take his order.” He tried to diffuse the bomb going off in Sam but with the way Sam had gone quiet, he was terrified. 

He held onto the wheel as tight as he could, the whole ride home. 

–+–

“I don’t know him!” Grian yelled, staring at his feet as he sat a ghost on Sam’s couch. 

“Then why the hell would he leave you $100 in tip, Grian, that doesn’t make sense.” Sam replied, pacing around his rich living room, almost stomping. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know, Sam.” Grian replied, “He just did. He’s a doctor, it’s basically pocket change to him. You’re reading too much into it.”

Sam laughed a scary laugh. 

Grian wanted to go home. He wanted to see Jimmy. He wanted to talk to Pearl. He wanted to go home. His hands shook like crazy in his lap. The ground called him a helpless little bitch in ten different languages. 

“Don’t you dare tell me that.” Sam demanded, pointing a finger at Grian that came too close for comfort. 

“It’s the truth, Sam. I work in the goddamn service industry, people are going to try and hit on you.” Grian explained, but it fell onto deaf ears. 

“Don’t lie to me!” Sam stopped in front of Grian and stomped so hard the painting on the white walls shook. “Is my wealth not enough for you? Look at this stupidly massive house, Gre-on! Look!” His hands were too close to Grian. “See, if you just moved in with me, this wouldn’t be an issue. There’d be no risk of you getting hit on by other people. No risk of debt. No risk of anything. But no. You’d rather room with that fucking moron you call a friend. You’d rather hang out with those fucking dweebs with girlfriends that they’re too pretty for. It’s ridiculous, Gre-on, really.”

Grian squeezed his eyes shut, and stayed silent. Was it even worth it to talk? Nothing he said was being considered. Nothing.

Goddamn it, those dweebs were his only friends. The only people he knew besides Sam. The only people he could escape to if things got bad again. If things got like this again. But if he defended them… he didn’t know what would happen. 

He tried to look at Sam’s legs from his wince, but instead Sam had sat on the couch too, a few yards from Grian. The silence was suffocating. Grian wanted to stand. He wanted to run, but he knew he wouldn’t get far. The door was right there. Closed. Locked. If he ran, how far could he get?

“Gre-on.” 

Grian flinched. 

“You need to quit your job.”

Grian shook his head, “Sam, no.” And he meant it, “I need this job, whether you like it or not. It’s how I make a living right now.” He said, trying to save some face. 

“It’s not a question, Gre-on, it’s an order.”

Grian scoffed.

“I’m 25 years old. I’m not taking your orders, Sam, are you serious?” Grian laughed because it wasn’t funny. Sam was serious, dead serious, and Grian knew it. 

Sam’s hands balled into fists, and it made Grian scared again. He was shuffling in and out of a state of utter fear and he knew it. He knew he was being foolish, trying to reason with the unreasonable. 

“I can’t trust you. How do you expect me to trust you?” Sam asked.

“Because I’m your boyfriend of six damn years, Sam. If that doesn’t make you trust me I don’t know what the hell else will.” Grian snapped back. 

Sam looked at Grian, and his eyes were cold. 

Grian watched Sam’s hand trail to a couch pillow and he held his breath. Fuck it was just a fucking pillow with a little black cat etched into it with some embroidery method beyond Grian. He had stopped crocheting when Sam began to call it girly. But he missed it sometimes. 

The pillow, of course, came flying Grian’s way. 

Grian raised his arms to protect himself, shaking now. He was shaking for real. He was in danger. He was scared. 

The pillow hit him softly, but the idea behind it bruised. 

“Sam, I’m gonna go.” Grian said, “You need to calm down—” 

CRASH –!!

Grian screamed, loudly. 

It took just two seconds for a large flowerful vase to come crashing onto the floor less than three inches to his left. It shattered into pieces, a lot of them. They were sharp and looked deadly enough to Grian’s panicked state. 

He looked back to Sam who was reaching for a box of tissues on the coffee table next. 

Then he ran. 

Like for real ran.

He stepped on a sharp or two of the ceramic piece, probably triple Grian’s net worth, yelping as he pried at the door with his blurry eyes. 

He looked at Sam, who had stood to watch Grian fiddle helplessly with the fancy lock. 

“Where are you gonna go? Where are you gonna go?” Sam repeated walking towards him, mad. So mad. 

Grian opened the door just in time for Sam to grab him by the wrist with a full strength this time. It hurt. It hurt a lot more than Grian ever could’ve imagined on that night just two months ago now. He felt where the bite used to be. Was he foolish for forgiving Sam? Wasn’t he?

“Ow! Sam, that hurts!” Grian protested, trying to pull away frantically. 

Sam was barely taller than Grian, yet no matter how much Grian fought it was like he was a child in comparison. He didn’t know what was making him so weak. Fear? Or maybe he just was weak? He could beat Jimmy and Joel and Oli in arm wrestling competitions, but what did that mean if he couldn’t defend himself against Sam?

Sam tried to shut the door whilst shoving Grian away from it, but he couldn’t get it closed all the way with Grian’s protesting. 

“Sam! Let go! Let fucking go!” Grian cried, wanting to actually burst into tears when Sam grabbed hold of his other wrist. 

“You can’t leave here, Gre-on. You can’t.” Sam’s voice was dark and Grian felt chills fall down his spine. 

Sam pinned Grian to the wall, holding his arms on each side of his head. 

He stared at Grian with his dark eyes. 

“What is wrong with you?” Grian asked, catching his breath and writhing in pain at the grip, “You know that vase could’ve killed me, right? You know your hurting me, right?”

Sam shook his head. 

“Promise to quit your job.” Sam demanded. 

“Let go!” Grian begged.

“Promise me first.”

Grian looked at Sam like he was looking at a monster. 

“Sam…”

Sam tightened his grip.

“Promise me.” 

Grian whimpered.

“O-Okay. Okay! I will!” Grian lied, just wanting the pain to subside. 

Sam released Grian’s wrists and Grian fell to the floor, his legs weakened. 

He stared at Sam as he walked away like nothing. He walked away like he hadn’t just gone crazy. Like Grian wasn’t on the verge of tears on his floor, terrified. 

Sam picked up Grian’s wad of tip cash from the couch and basically threw it at Grian. It landed by his feet but he still flinched. Sam looked at Grian with those scary eyes again. 

“Take your whore money.” Sam sneered, “Let’s get ready for bed.”

–+–

Jimmy: Are you coming home tonight?

Grian, lying in bed next to Sam in Sam’s shirt and pants, held his breath. 

His face was barely lit up, but you could still see the tear stains on his face. 

Sam was snoring whatever drink he had away, Grian double checked by listening for the heavy snores that kept him up. After the twelfth he shifted out of the bed so slowly it probably took minutes if he was thinking in any way straight. 

His wrists throbbed and his head hurt like a bitch, but he could still triple check that Sam was knocked out, the heavy sleeper he was. His foot stung with each step, the ceramic pieces still dug deep into his skin. 

He tiptoed out of the room, opening it so quietly it made not a sound to Grian’s ringing ears. 

Sam was still sleeping. 

He felt the pocket of the pants of Sams he wore for the money. He needed it for rent. 

Then he shut the door behind him. 

He walked down the dark stairs looking at the aftermath from his high ground.

There were ceramic pieces everywhere, blood from when he stepped on a few pieces staining the floor. The pillows and tissues were spread around it too, not Grian’s problem to clean. 

When he finally reached the front door, he grabbed his keys and ran. He didn’t even lock the door. He didn’t even bother to close it all the way. Who would rob this good of a neighborhood? 

When he limped to his car, he wasn’t even sure if he was in the state to drive, but how else would he get home? 

He hoped in the driver's seat and felt the warmth of his car engulf him in relief. He still smelled Sam’s vape, saw Sam’s hoodie in the back seat stained in lint. The radio played one of Sam’s CDs quietly as usual. 

He drove like he wanted a ticket, and maybe he did. Maybe he wanted a police man to pull him over and pity him. Maybe he wanted the policeman to ask him if he was okay, so he could spill everything Sam had done and then Sam could go away forever.

But as he drove all he got a few honks.

Jimmy messaged him a few times, but he couldn’t put anything he was feeling into words. Not now. At some point the CD ran out of songs to play, so it was silent. Just Grian’s slow breathing and the ache in his body.

Someone gave him some birds, but that was okay.

He forgot to turn on his turn signal when he pulled into his apartment complex, he heard the brakes of the car behind him as they slammed. 

That was a lot of honks too.

Walking into the complex, he was happy the receptionist had clocked out. There was a sleepy security guard who didn’t look at him, so that was nice. The elevator was quiet, and lit up, only him. Grian saw himself distorted in the silver walls.

When he reached his floor he limped away to his apartment. 

He hoped Jimmy was sleeping. 

He really  hoped so. 

He hissed as one step dug the piece deeper, almost throwing up at the pain. 

But eventually the knob was at his grasp, taunting him. 

He didn’t know what he would say to Jimmy. What he would do. 

What if Sam was waiting at the door in the morning? What if Sam was following him? What if Sam was a second away from catching Grian and stabbing him and beating him and killing him–

He opened the door. 

The apartment was dark, except for where it wasn’t. 

Jimmy was sitting on the couch, kitchen light on making him seem mysterious. 

Grian stopped breathing for a second, locking unfortunate eyes with Jimmy. 

Jimmy’s tired eyes looked him up and down. 

“Oh my god, Grian.” He began.

Grian looked at the ground in shame. 

“Grian… I– I’m gonna kill him.” Jimmy covered his mouth, the anger bubbling through him. 

Grian didn’t reply. 

Jimmy approached Grian like he was some biohazard, leading him to the couch like he didn’t know how to walk himself. 

“Stay… Stay there, okay?” Jimmy said, running to the bathroom all frazzled. 

Grian heard him rummaging through the cabinets and drawers.

He felt the wad of cash in his pocket.

Oh, how he hated that doctor.