After the War.

Ryan opened the oven and pulled the rack halfway out, lifting the foil from the pan, basting the duck again and checking the temperature. Logically, he knew the duck wouldn't help him break the news any easier. (William would probably think it was chicken anyway.) However he couldn't see himself serving a typical dinner when he told William the reason they would have to stay in a hotel for a few nights while their room was sound-proofed.

Will was in the living room, of course, drinking his third glass of red wine and watching a movie he wasn't paying attention to on the television. He was vaguely aware that something was going on since dinner had been started a full two hours early. But, as per usual, he didn't bother to think about it. Ryan knew what he was doing, as he always did.

An hour later Ryan poked his head into the living room and found William sleeping, his wine glass on the coffee table. He smiled softly, picking up the blanket from the back of the chair a draping it over the sleeping figure, brushing the dark hair back from William's face. He'd cut it a few months before, to a length Ryan had silently detested, but it was looking better now that it had grown out. "It's going to be all right." he whispered before leaving the room to start laundry.

---

William lifted the fork to his mouth, unaware of Ryan's eyes watching for his reaction to the taste. "This isn't chicken." he said after swallowing.

"It's duck." Ryan replied, taking a bite of his own. "Do you like it?" He almost added that he'd never made duck before, but thought better of it. William liked to believe that Ryan was an expert at everything he did. The boy nodded his ascent and they finished the meal in silence. They were scraping the plates and loading the dishwasher when William asked if they could keep the leftovers. It was a relatively simple question, except that they never did and didn't own Tupperware.

But Ryan put the duck in a mixing bowl, covered it with cling wrap, and told William to put it in the refrigerator. It wasn't like he made duck everyday, he reasoned. And Will could stand to eat a little more anyway. He was losing weight he didn't need to lose.

"Pete's getting out of the hospital." Ryan said as the refrigerator door shut. William's eyes looked at him inquisitively and Ryan gave him a soft, reassuring smile. "He's staying here for a little while. The doctors think the . . . order would be good for him."

William's eyes widened in panic and he started shaking his head, lips beginning to tremble. "But . . . but . . . no."

Ryan could see the tears already forming in the other boy's brown eyes as he stepped toward him, catching William's shaking hands in his and feathering kisses over the knuckles. "Shh, Will. It's all right. Don't worry." His voice was softer than his kisses. "Tomorrow we're going to a hotel and our room is going to get sound-proofed, all right?"

He could se the faint light of understanding make it's way across William's face. "So," the boy asked, licking his dry lips, "you'll still . . ."

"Of course." Ryan kissed his hands again. "Now why don't you go run the bath and I'll be up in a minute?"

After William had disappeared up the stairs, Ryan sank heavily against the counter. It was all so much. Pete and William. He knew the doctors said it was temporary, but that wasn't his main worry. He was more concerned with Pete's lucidity and what he would say about the way Ryan was taking care of William. He knew he wasn't doing it accordingly. (Not that he cared, but he knew Pete would say something to bring it all back to Gabe.)

Ryan straightened up and turned on the dishwasher, then walked up the stairs where William was waiting in the doorway of the bathroom. The smell of vanilla drifted through the hallway and there was a wine glass in the boy's hand. He nodded silently to Ryan who took a drink from it before setting the glass down and slowly begging to take off William's clothes.

Now was the silence. Bath and then into their robes. The velvet cords would be a necessity tonight, Ryan was certain. William was too unsure of what was going to happen. Not distrustful, just concerned. Ryan couldn't blame him for it.

---

Ryan woke early the next morning to pack both his and William's suitcases. A week's worth of clothes (just in case), their robes. Shampoo, conditioner, razors, shaving cream, the candlesticks from the bathroom. He zipped the velvet cords and gauze into the inside pocket of his suitcase. His journal and both their laptops. William's Xanax and sleeping pills that the doctor has prescribed the year before, plus Claritin if his allergies decided to act up.

The workers were scheduled to arrived around eleven so Ryan woke William up to shower, dress, and eat breakfast around half past nine. "The hotel has great food." Ryan told him, while he was frying eggs in the bacon grease. "And I got us a suite. Just a little vacation." He smiled at the other boy who nodded silently and put four slices of bread in the toaster. "I already packed for you." Ryan added, feeling--as he so often did--not unlike a mother.

William buttered the toast when it popped up and put three strips of bacon on each slice before letting Ryan add the egg. "Did you pack any movies?" he asked, finally speaking for the first time since he woke up.

"You can after you eat." Ryan glanced at the egg carton. "Do you want another, baby?"

William shook his head and wandered into the living room with his plate and morning vodka&orange juice. He turned on the morning news, letting the meaningless noise fill the otherwise empty room. He didn't want Pete to come to their home. He hated being selfish, but he hated the idea of having to talk about Gabe more.

The easiest way to live with a ghost is to ignore it.

---

The pair spent two days in the hotel, most of their time in the room. William watching television and drinking, Ryan next to him working silently on his laptop. He was ordering a few pieces of furniture for the guest room Pete would be staying in and a new wireless printer. A small pop-up appeared din the corner of his screen, letting him know he had a new e-mail.

Ryan,

I'd like to see Pete. (And you and Will.) Could you send me a reply when you think
a good time might be? I don't have your new phone numbers, so I hope this email is
still current. I got it from Spencer. Hope everything is going all right. Contact me if
you need anything.

- Patrick

Ryan didn't tell William, just moved the message to the appropriate folder and went back to looking at lamps. He had known the requests to see Pete would start as soon as they got wind of where he was staying, but he didn't want to worry William with the thought of guests. Pete was already too much for the boy to handle.

On the third day, they went back to the house and Ryan paid the workers. William took a nap on the couch and Ryan started a chicken roast for dinner. The next few days carried like usual, slow and quiet without any mention of Pete. But on the night before Ryan was scheduled to pick the man up from the hospital, he and William put the soundproof walls to the test.

Ryan ripped him apart and shoved him back together, so unlike their usual rhythm of him ripping William apart and gently placing him back in place. This time it was all harsh until the end. Despite the gauze Ryan wrapped around William's wrists to keep them from chafing, there were still bruises from the velvet cords underneath.

It wasn't until after the restraints were untied that Ryan's touch grew soft. This was no normal night, he reasoned to himself, as he feathered kisses along William's wrists. Ryan gave him a sponge bath and brushed his hair before replacing the sheets. "You," he murmured softly as he helped the other boy into bed, "are my first priority." Ryan lay down, pulling William into his arms. "Now, go to sleep."

---

"We're going to pick up lunch on the way back. P.F. Changs. I'll get your usual." Ryan told William as he checked his reflect in their hallway mirror and buttoned his jacket. "I left out a bottle of wine and two Xanax. I should be home in two hours, all right?"

"Okay." Will mumbled, barely looking up. But he smiled weakly when Ryan kissed his cheek.

"I'll be back soon. Call if you need me."

Ryan did not often leave the house by himself. It was a nice day, too warm for the jacket he was wearing. He lit a cigarette and turned on the air conditioning, waiting a full minute for the passenger door to shut before remembering it wouldn't.

He hesitated at the stop sign before putting in From Under the Cork Tree. There was an unspoken rule among former Decaydance players that they not listen to the memories of their past lives, but every so often Ryan would pull out a forgotten disc and listen to Pete's lyrics or William's voice or his own first album. The only voice he left alone was Gabe's. He couldn't bring himself to cross that line.

'When talking's just a waste of breath and living's just a waste of death . . .' Pete's voice sounded through the speakers and Ryan winced.

"God," he murmured to the emptiness, "who the hell were we?" They had all been immortal, or so they thought. They were young and, despite all their stumblings, they were foolishly optimistic. Ryan couldn't bring himself to think of Gabe as a fitting punishment. After all, who had they ever hurt besides themselves?

Ryan was so tangled in his thoughts that he didn't realize he was pulling into the hospital parking lot until he swore at a minivan that cut him off. The CD went into the case and under his seat, his cigarette out the window. "Okay," he mumbled, rechecking his reflection in the rearview mirror. "This is it."

Pete was sitting in a chair near the nurse's station when Ryan got upstairs. The man stood up, smiling broadly, and crossed the room to hug Ryan. "Thank you." he whispered fiercely. Neither of them could keep track of how many times he'd said it in the past few weeks.

"Do you need to sign anything?" Ryan asked with a warm smile. "Or are we good to go?"

Ten minutes later they were in the car, heading to the restaurant. Pete stole one of Ryan's cigarettes and inhaled greedily, eyes taking bites at the world they were speeding past like a famine victim. "God." he breathed. "I just kept going and going. I half expected it to stop."

"I think we all did at first." Ryan replied honestly. "By the way, William's going to be distant. And don't . . . don't talk about Gabe too much in front of him." He exhaled deeply and pulled into the restaurant parking lot.

---

William was alone in the house. He recalled this having happened once before, but he couldn't remember when or what he had done. This time, however, he knew exactly what he was doing as he slunk down to the basement to find a shoe box that he had put on one of the higher shelves that Ryan couldn't reach without standing on a chair.

When he was safely locked in one of the guest rooms (but not Pete's), he lifted the box's lid. He didn't look at these things often. When he did, he was usually up all night with Ryan. But sometimes, he thought, you needed to remember even if it lead to your own suffering.

A photograph of Will and Gabe at a party. They were both laughing, unaware of anything resembling mortality. Just out of frame, William knew, Ryan was silently watching, eyes fixed on Gabe. The next photo was one William had stolen from Ryan and copied. Gabe and the boy were on the couch at one of Pete's parties, limbs tangled in each other. Gabe was beaming at Ryan and the younger boy looked completely free. They were all alive and not just technically. Their blood was running hot in their veins and they were running like wild coyotes in the desert outside Las Vegas.

William's long fingers flipped through the CDs and entwined around the chain of Gabe's necklace. This was always when the tears decided to come. "I never meant to kill you." he whispered to the darkness. "But you weren't coming back." He sniffled and wiped at his cheeks.

The front door opened and William hurriedly shoved the box under the bed, hurrying down the stairs to kiss Ryan on the cheek, hug Pete, and pour himself another glass of wine.

---

Pete's eyebrows furrowed as he watched Ryan handing William the plates and the latter taking all the food from the take-out boxes and putting it on the glass, white with a gold ring around the edges. Both of them were drinking red wine and, after asking Pete what he wanted, Ryan poured Coke into a glass before putting the can into the recycling bin.

Everything was neat and orderly and almost manufactured.. Glass plates for take-out? Eating lunch at the table? The table complete with a vase of fresh flowers and a coaster under Pete's glass? It was so fake, so contrite. The only thing that kept Pete from losing it and throwing verbal daggers at Ryan was the vaguely dazed look on William's face. He'd bring it up later, Pete told himself, when the boy was passed out drunk in the living room and he and Ryan were upstairs.

William didn't speak at lunch and when Pete did, he noticed that Ryan winced almost unperceivable. The house was too quiet, as if there were someone sleeping the pair didn't want to disturb.

Which is the point, Pete assumed with an internet shudder. If the doctors had known he was leaving the hospital to step into Gabe's living tomb, they probably wouldn't have let him go. But it's not a normal day, Pete tired to remind himself, observing the tension in William's muscles. Give it a week.

After lunch, William took the dishes to the sink and a bottle of wine with him to the living room. Pete watched Ryan load the dishwasher silently. It wasn't until the younger boy had poured his third glass of wine that the older spoke. "Will seems distant."

"Yes." Ryan agreed, nodding. "Let's unpack your things. I have some furniture being delivered tomorrow." He started for the stairs, grabbing Pete's suitcase from the doorway and carrying it with him. There was a window seat and a king size four-poster bed. All the furniture was oak wood and all the metal was silver. Green rug, drapes, and bedding.

When Ryan and William had bought the house, the former had asked William to pick the colors and wood for the two guest rooms and then he had furnished accordingly. The other guest room (where the shoe box of Gabe's memories was currently hiding) had ebony wood and soft, blue colors. Ryan and William's room had mahogany wood, white fabrics, and black metal.

"You'll have to text me if you need me after bed." Ryan explained. "Our room is soundproofed and William can't sleep unless the door's locked."

Pete lifted a singular eyebrow. "Soundproofed? That seems a little . . . overzealous. It's not like I've never heard sex noises."

Ryan met the dubious eyes with his own hard stare. "You've haven't heard us. And you won't." He turned back to the room, letting his gaze fall to the framed prints he had hung on the walls. "You can hang anything you want as long as it's framed. We have a lot of them in the basement."

Pete frowned again. Perfect ninety degree angles on all the frames, he could tell. The bed was so perfectly made, not a single wrinkle in sight. He felt like he was looking at a picture in a catalogue. He couldn't decide whether to cry or pull on his hair and scream. He settled for neither.

"Do you think," Pete questioned in a low voice," that this sort of dysfunctional order is actually good for Will?"

Ryan bit the inside of his cheek. There were a million answers he wanted to spit out like venom, answers that would never leave his lips. They were too far in now, too deep. Pete could see for himself how decidedly altered this was from the ways he and Gabe had done it. But, Ryan reasoned angrily, when had they ever encountered such a battle?

"Well," the boy returned, voice dull, "he hasn't tried to kill himself yet. Which is more than I can say for either of us."

Pete didn't rise to snap at the bait. His voice was cool. "There's not much point in killing yourself when you aren't really living."

That did it.

Color rose in Ryan's cheeks and he hissed, low and dangerous, not wanting the boy downstairs to hear. "I have done everything I can for him. Everything. For two fucking years. Who feeds him? Who washes his hair? Who takes him apart and puts him back together? Me." His voice was acid, sulphur, turpentine. "And I've done it without sleeping around. If Gabe didn't want me to take care of William, then damn well shouldn't have given him to me." Ryan was seething, heavy breaths forcing their way through his clenched teeth.

"You weren't supposed to fall in love with him." Pete replied, his voice very much like a soft scold.

"And Gabe wasn't supposed to die." Ryan was two steps outside the door before he remembered he hadn't denied being in love with William. He paused for a moment, but said nothing and went downstairs. Steak for dinner, with caramelized onions and mushrooms. Baked potatoes and snow peas on the side.

William was asleep with Ryan checked on him an hour later. It was hard to believe William was the older of the two sometimes. It was even harder to believe that he hadn't been the one who was dating Gabe. They were very much living with a ghost, Ryan was entirely too aware, but all the horror movies were very clear:

A ghost won't leave until it's ready.

---

Despite Pete's malcontent with the plates and placemats and William's second bottle of wine, he did have to admit that Ryan had incredibly cookery skills. Nothing like the teenager who'd stayed with him three years before and managed to burn gravy he was reheating in the microwave. With the cooking and the decorating and the Martha Stewart cleanliness of the house, Ryan was the perfect wife.

"Will, we're having a high pollen count tomorrow, so take a Claritin after dinner, all right?" Ryan's voice was tender, meant more for a child than a lover. It was also the first time Pete had heard William directly addressed outside the kitchen and he started slightly at it.

The boy gave a docile nod and continued to pick apart his potato. All the onions from the steak were on the side of his plate and he was halfway through his third glass of wine. "I will." he promised, voice light as a feather.

The rest of the meal was consumed in silence, save he sound of cutlery on plates, wine pouring, people chewing. Pete felt smothered, like if he coughed the glass dome Ryan had so successfully created would come crashing all around them and they'd be cut to ribbons by the shards. There had been more noise at Gabe's funeral.

Pete picked up his plate after the meal, but Ryan took it from him. "We've got it." he assured the older. "Don't worry about clean up." he disappeared into the kitchen first.

Before William got to the other room, however, he turned to look at Pete. "I hope you feel better," he murmured before disappearing after the other boy.

"You too." Pete mumbled. It didn't take a trained eye--though he had one--to see the circles under William's bloodshot eyes, the bruises on his wrists, the bottles of wine, the constant sleeping, the fact that he hardly spoke, or that he weighed one-hundred-thirty pounds soak wet. William was treading water. Gabe wouldn't have wanted this, Pete was certain. And Ryan damn well should have known better.

"Give me an Ambien." William said in the kitchen, eyes and voice lowered. "And . . . and then I should be fine." His voice was a whisper (and shaking besides). "You can talk to him."

Ryan's voice was clipped when he spoke. "I don't have anything to say to him tonight." He placed a gentle hand on William's cheek, eyes probing. "Remember what I told you," he murmured. "Why don't you go run a bath and I'll be up in a minute?"

The boy nodded and disappeared up the stairs. Pete followed silently. The master bathroom was at one end of the hall and the older boy remained at the other, watching. William felt his neck burn hot, feeling the eyes on him, but he turned the knobs on the whirlpool despite.

Pete's fingers itched to pull the boy's hair back, see the muscles in the neck pulled taut, constricted breaths. No cords, just William's own resolve acting as his restraints. Not this bullshit he knew Ryan insisted on, mollycoddling more than anything else. No wonder William was drinking so damn much. What else could he do? He only did what the other boy told him to.

"You can stop watching him now." Ryan said darkly. He was at the foot of the stairs, eyes slightly narrowed.

"I could help." Pete offered softly, not even realizing he'd breathed the words until his mouth closed.

"No." Ryan was in the hall now, toe to toe with the other. "Don't try it, Pete." His voice was soft, so as not to startle William. "If you do, I will hurt you." he promised, turning on his heel and shutting the bathroom door behind him.

William didn't say anything when he heard the door close, just turned and waited for Ryan. Tonight, for some reason, they both looked completely different. He tried to tell himself Ryan only looked so livid because the room was darker than usual, owing to thinner candlesticks. Ryan, for his part, couldn't understand why William looked like a half-starved adolescent, lips wet and red, parted slightly and heaving from arduous breaths, like a sacrificial virgin.

As always, there were no words spoken between them. Ryan slowly removed William's clothing, let his fingertips lightly skim over the milk-pale bared skin. He stopped only when the other boy was shivering to remove his own clothes and lightly feather kisses along William's clavicle before helping him into the water.

This was the meditation before the battle, where William could feel Ryan's hands massaging his shoulders and back, lips light as air as his neck. He would let go of everything it was possible to let go of so Ryan only had to fight the most vital of demons once they entered their bedroom. And, unfortunately, there were always more than enough demons.

If one looked it was easy enough to see the marks of the wars waged on the terrain of William's flesh. Fingernail scratches on his chest night after night and bruises on the paper-thin skin of his hips. The fresh bruising on his wrists and the nearly faded fingerprint bruises on his neck. Scraped knuckles and welts on his thighs. A faded scar on his wrists from a night neither of them could possibly forget.

It was much harder to see Ryan's battle scars; he worked so hard to hide them. Calluses on his hands from always grasping some device in his hand to strike. Bruises under his fingernails from digging them so deep in William's flesh. The tension he held deep in his shoulders and neck, causing Ryan to self-correct his posture everyday when he woke up.

After an hour or so, Ryan gently squeezed the other boy's thigh to let him know it was time to get up. After they were in robes, Ryan fully dried William's hair, which he had washed, before sending him into the bedroom. Once he had gone, the candlesticks were blown out and thrown away, the charcoal towels folded into thirds and rehung, discarded clothes placed neatly in the hamper. When the room looked the same as it had when Will walked in, he left.

In the bedroom, he moved around, turning on the ceiling fan and lighting two more candles. Since he wasn't certain if they were needed or not, Ryan wordlessly held up the velvet cords and, after a brief hesitation, William slowly nodded. Ryan continued around the room, plugging the cell phones into their respective chargers and making sure the closet doors were completely closed.

Then, finally--an eternity later, as it always seemed to William--Ryan came to the bed. He knelt on the floor and took the other boy's wrist, wrapping first one in gauze and then the other. He never took his eyes off William's wrists when he did this, but William never took his eyes off Ryan's face, set in such fierce and yet, somehow, gentle determination.

After the robes came off and the cords were tied, the silent salvation began. If it hadn't been for the new walls, the neighbors certainly would have called the police from the sound of the screams. Ryan fought to hide his shock. He hadn't realized quite how much William had needed to be taken apart and he hated himself for it. Less than twenty-four hours and Pete was already shaking his attention.

After, Ryan put away the cords and unwrapped William's wrists, lightly kissing them and stroking the boy's hair. "Sleep now," he whispered, drawing the boy into his arms.

"Ryan," William breathed, his voice thick, "I . . ." He trailed off uncertainly.

"It's all right." the other returned. "I know. Me, too." And that was all that was said for the rest of the night.

---

When Ryan got up at seven the next morning to shower and start cleaning, he was slightly started to see the living room door open and the television on. Pete was on the couch, watching something on the History Channel and playing around on the new laptop Ryan had bought for him. The younger had forgotten what an insomniac Pete was until that moment. "What do you want for breakfast?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Pete's eyes fixed on Ryan's hips, barely visible between the low slung sweat pants and tight v-neck. "I wouldn't mind you." he replied in all honestly, not even bothering to disguise his evident arousal.

Ryan didn't blink. "I'm really good at omelettes, but Will likes my French toast." He inspected his fingernails as if they were the most interest thing in the world to him.

"When was the last time you had sex for fun?" Pete pressed. When Ryan didn't answer, he continued to pry. "All right then. When was the last time you got head? Or a handjob? Does he even jerk you off, Ry?"

The amber eyes flashed, but he didn't rise to the occasion. "All right," he murmured before walking to the downstairs bathroom for his shower, "eggs and bacon it is."

Ryan cried hot, bitter tears in the water. Damn Pete and damn him for thinking this was in anyway a feasible idea. And damn Gabe, too. The whole mess was his fault. If he hadn't been speeding off to meet some boy that wasn't Ryan in a hotel room, none of this would have happened.

His fist connected with the wall and he swore, but not loudly enough that he could be heard over the running water. Then, hating himself for his lack of restraint, Ryan began breathing slowly. Count to ten. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Once the tears had ebbed, he stepped out of the shower.

Not until his hair was completely dried and styled (and the bathroom spotless), did he got into the kitchen to start cooking breakfast for two, as well as brew coffee. When William got up around ten or eleven, Ryan would cook his breakfast and then order lunch two hours later. (Lunch was nearly always take-out these days.)

Pete came into the kitchen while Ryan was cooking, but he didn't mention sex. "Where's all my stuff?" he asked. "My cars and everything? Who's got Hemingway?" It seemed odd, to both of them, that he had waited so long to ask, but Ryan didn't show it.

"Everything's at your house," came the even answer. "Patrick checks on it all twice a month. Your mail gets forwarded to your mother and Travis has the dog." He flipped the bacon and went to put bread in the toaster, retrieving the butter dish from the counter as well.

"I want my car."

"Where do you plan on going?" Ryan asked, sounding entirely too parental for the older's taste.

"I have to get out of this sanitarium at least once a day or I'll buy a gun and blow my brains out." Pete said dryly, buttering the toast when it popped up. "I don't know how you do this shit. I swear, I can hear my body digesting when we eat."

"Silence is good for reflection." Ryan said in a nearly sing-song voice, putting the bacon on a plate and adding six more slices to the pan.

"Do you really think Will needs so much reflection?" Pete asked, voice a little too sharp. "He's almost a god damn mirror already."

Once again, the younger refused to bite, forcing his tone to remain even. "Why don't you leave worrying about William to me and worry about yourself a little bit more?"

"I was in the hospital for a year and a half. I've had plenty of time for reflection." Pete inhaled three slices of bacon before speaking again. "And besides, the doctor thought I'd recover here, not living in your fucked-up timeless world."

"Do you think going back to everything the way it was before is going to help you?" Ryan snapped, adding more bacon to the plate before cracking the eggs.

When Pete finally replied, his voice was on the edge of breaking. "Things can't ever be the way they were before."

And since he was right, Ryan left it alone. "How do you like your eggs?"

---

When William woke up at half past eleven, he grabbed the shoe box from the ebony and white room, returning it to the basement before wandering into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and Ryan appeared almost instantaneously. "Morning, baby. What do you want for breakfast?"

"BLT?" William asked, pulling a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator and walking to the cupboard to get a glass, pulling a bottle of vodka out from under the sink. After he'd drank and returned the pitcher, he started slicing the vegetables while Ryan was frying the bacon.

William had dreamt about Gabe, an awful horrible nightmare that he woke up from in a cold sweat, gasping. He knew Ryan would want to know, that the other boy would be incredibly upset if he found out later. But Pete was already weighing so hard on Ryan that the boy didn't know what to do. He didn't have to think on it for long, however.

"Your collar's wet." Ryan said casually--too casually--when William turned to butter the toast.

"I-I . . . I had a bad dream." the boy whispered, refusing to turn and meet the amber eyes. The knife made a scraping noise against the dry toast.

"You weren't going to tell me." A statement, not a question, and William's insides twisted in guilt. Ryan turned the boy to face him, ignoring the bacon. "We've talked about this," he said, softly but firmly. "You have to tell me these things."

William nodded, looking as miserable as he felt. "I just, with Pete and--"

"It doesn't matter." Ryan interrupted. "Tell me." He turned back to the bacon. "This is ready. Bring me your plate, William." He finished the sandwich and handed it back. And when the boy turned to pick up his glass, Ryan's arms slipped around his waist from behind. "You have to trust me to take care of you," he murmured. "With that, this all falls apart."

William nodded, his insides twisting slightly more. He could hear the very faint hurt in Ryan's voice. "I'm sorry." he mumbled. "I don't do it to make you upset."

"I know." Ryan returned, planting a soft kiss behind William's ear. "I know you'd never do that." He let his hands run gently down the boy's sides. "I'll bring you a Xanax after I get this mess cleaned up, all right?"

William nodded and made his way to the living room where Pete had just snuck out to go upstairs. ("I got you a forty-two inch plasma for you room so, really, the living room is kind of unnecessary during the day." Ryan had told the man on the way home from the hospital with a hint of warning in his eyes.) William didn't know any of this thought and sank into the couch like it was any other day, picking up the remote and turning on the television, which picked it up on the show Pete had been watching.

An angel was on the screen. Then a painting of a demon. And then an old man in a suit talking about hell. William was frozen, eyes paralyzed, tears suddenly running down his cheeks. It wasn't until a commercial began that he seemed able to control his muscles again and he slowly changed the channel. But it didn't matter. William could only see Gabe, as clearly as if they were sitting beside one another on the couch.

And it seemed, after a moment, that Gabe really was sitting next to him. William supposed he should have been scared, but he felt lighter than he had in a very, very long time. Trying to not shatter the illusion, he picked up his sandwich like it was a normal day and began to eat. After he'd set his plate down, William placed his hand on the spot on the couch where he assumed Gabe's leg would be and feel asleep. A quiet sort of sleep without dreams.

In the kitchen, Ryan was cleaning the counters and washing the windows, unaware of anything that was (or wasn't) going on in the living room. At noon he went upstairs to ask Pete what he wanted for lunch and then called to order a large pepperoni pizza for Pete, Italian for him and William. Ryan hated ordering pizza and he only did if he was asked. Something about eating with one's fingers . . .

He didn't bother to ask William. He always ordered the same thing from each of the restaurants. Ryan tended to as well. Or at least, he rotated between a few items. He knew the well-meaning people who told him he'd developed obsessive-compulsive tendencies were correct. However, he'd never let them think he agreed. My 'tendencies' keep William alive.

Ryan put his phone back on the counter and finished the window over the sink before he returned all the cleaning supplies to their proper places and washed his hands. That was when he realized he hadn't taken William his Xanax. When Ryan got to the living room and opened the door, the boy was sitting on the couch, talking to no one.

William frozen when he saw Ryan.

Ryan kept his expression even. "You all right?"

William nodded mutely and he saw, or believed he saw, Gabe's form fade out to nothingness. I'm not crazy. I'm not. "What's for lunch?"

"Italian." Ryan crossed the room and handed the boy a Xanax, deciding not to mention the talking. (If he had known who William was talking to, however, he certainly would have had something to say.) "Go ahead and take that. Do you want some wine?"

The boy nodded again, still silent.

"I'll bring you a glass. And then I'll be in the office if you need me." Ryan said after the pill had been swallowed. He let his fingers trail down William's cheek. "If you need to talk."

Pete watched the exchange just out of sight in the hall before slipping off to the kitchen to find something to munch on. He was used to eating much earlier at the hospital than they did here. "Do you have anything that doesn't require two hours of cooking?" he asked when Ryan entered.

"Not really." The younger pulled a corkscrew from the drawer and went to the cupboard for a bottle of wine. "Unless you want to make toast or a salad. You can come grocery shopping with William and I on Tuesday, though. I'll clear a cupboard and some of the basement freezer for you."

Pete grit his teeth and stared hard at the bottle of wine in Ryan's hand. "I want a glass of that."

Ryan didn't even look at him. "I thought you gave up drinking."

"I lied." the man snapped.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." He put the bottle on the counter.

All reason seemed to abandon Pete at that moment. "Like you have any clue what a good idea is," he spat out, crossing the room and grasping Ryan's wrist, spinning him around and forcing him back against the counter. His grip was tight and his eyes stared into the boy's hard, but Ryan' stared back. "You keep Will drunk all damn day. This responsibility should have never been yours. He wasn't even near being done with you."

Pete's mouth went for Ryan's then and the younger boy struggled, twisting his head to avoid the kiss but refusing to make a noise lest William should hear and come to investigate. "Get off of me." he hissed.

"You aren't ready for the responsibility of Will. Give him to me." Pete's eyes burned like a furnace and Ryan was certain the older man had finally completely lost his mind.

Ryan's entire body was hot with fury and he spit in Pete's face. "I will never let you hurt him the way Gabe hurt me." His voice was poison.

"You're too close to do this properly." Pete snarled, his body now pressed completely against the other. "You're not supposed to fall in love with him."

"I loved Gabe." Ryan whispered, light-headed from his labored breathing.

Pete slapped him and then took the boy's chin in his hand. Ryan struggled, but he couldn't turn his head. They were so close he could feel Pete's breath on his skin. "You were supposed to love Gabe. That's the point, to make you able to love someone. But he wasn't supposed to fall in love with you. And he didn't." Pete's voice was vicious with the last three words, trying to make sure his point was being beaten into Ryan's cerebellum.

"I know he didn't." Ryan sighed heavily and seemed to almost collapse into himself for a moment. "And I don't care. All right? William . . . there's no chain anymore. We're separate. Leave us alone, Pete. Leave him alone."

"You're killing him," the man breathed.

"I love him." Ryan admitted, his voice cracking, but no tears came. "We all did the best we could." His eyes seemed dead, his body lax. And so Pete picked that particular moment to press their mouths together.

Ryan screamed, for a moment completely forgetting about the boy in the living room and bit down on Pete's lip, pushing with every ounce of strength he could summon. The man stumbled to the ground and a gasp sounded from the doorway. It only took a heartbeat and they were both scrambling for William, Pete in crazed fury and Ryan in protective fear. The latter reached him first.

"Lock yourself in the basement now." he hissed in William's ear. "Now." The boy hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to let his eyes take in the sight of Pete still coming toward him on hands and knees before running down the hall.

The sound of the door locking seemed to only fuel Pete's anger. He grabbed Ryan's leg and pulled the boy to the floor. The pair struggled desperate but, despite his height advantage, Ryan ended up pinned to the carpet.

"Is this how you fixed Gabe?" Ryan asked suddenly, his voice quiet despite the situation. "Is this how you want to fix Will?" He paled suddenly, imagining the boy in his place. No. I will not let that happen, he swore to himself. "You forced him? You held him down and . . ." Ryan's voice faded out, clearly recoiling at the thought.

Pete seemed to calm, if only for a moment. "No. I . . . I never made Gabe do anything." His expression hardened again. "This isn't my fault. You weren't done when he let you go. And . . . And Will? You weren't ready. I have to do this." The last was spoken more to himself than to anyone else.

Ryan was desperate. He would not let Pete get to William, no matter what it cost him, what he had to say, what he had to sacrifice. "I-I know I haven't . . ." He hesitated for a brief moment. "I haven't done right by Will." Pete said nothing, just waited. "I know we're half-living." Ryan continued in a whisper. "I . . . I haven't even . . . cried over Gabe yet." His voice broke again as he realized the last statement was true, but he didn't allow the tears to come.

Pete nodded, almost compassionately. "You're not making this easier for either of you." He kissed Ryan's cheek and then his neck. "Let me help. Then I'll show you how to help Will."

"Y-You have to let me explain this first." Ryan whispered, brain spinning. This was all too much. Pete's skin on his repulsed him, but at the same time it was intoxicating. He hadn't been touched in any way except for what he did for William since Gabe died. "I have to explain this to William. Alone. I just . . . everything's going to change and he needs to hear why. From me."

Pete was not an idiot. "Yeah." His hand slowly slid down Ryan's side. "Of course. As soon as we're done."

Ryan's bottom lip trembled, but he forced the tears back down. "No. I-I can't. Not without telling him." He lifted a hand and let it rest on Pete's chest, feeling the heart pounding beneath his fingers. "Please." He hesitated before pressing their lips together and parting his mouth slightly. He didn't mean to let the soft moan out, but it seemed to change Pete's mind.

"Fifteen minutes."

"All right."

---

"I don't understand." William said, staring at Ryan's cell phone and the keys that were now in his hand. "What's wrong with Pete? Why did--"

"Baby," Ryan interrupted, taking the boy's free hand in both of his and sighing heavily, "I'll explain later. Just listen to me, okay? Call Patrick and tell him to come down here. And if I don't call you by six, get a hotel room, okay?" He was trying not to think about the fact that William hadn't driven since they moved in together.

"No." The boy frowned. "No. I'm not going anywhere without you." He didn't bother to hide the tears forming in his eyes. "You're coming with me." He shook his head frantically.

"Pete could hurt himself." Ryan said gently.

And then, for the first time since Gabe died, William took charge of a situation. "Well, then call his doctor." He held the phone out and glared at Ryan, almost angry that he'd had to reach the conclusion himself.

Ryan stared at him, then slowly nodded, taking the phone. "Will," he breathed, leaning in and kissing the other boy on the lips, "I love you." He let his fingers tangle in the boy's hair. "I'm going to fix this," he promised, "and then we're going to talk." There were tears in his eyes now and he didn't bother to hide them. Everything was already changing and he knew it was time.

William nodded, his face softening. "All right, Ry. A-And I love you, too."

---

Ryan made William go upstairs while the medics came in to sedate Pete. Ryan held the man's hand as they put him on the gurney. "I'm sorry." the boy whispered, kissing his cheek. "This was a bad idea. But I'll come see you tomorrow."

Pete's voice was feverish, but clearly audible. "I . . . lied . . . loved him."

Ryan nodded, this time letting the tears slide over his cheeks. "I know, Pete. Go to sleep now. It's all right. It's all going to be okay." He watched from the doorway until the ambulance was gone and then climbed the stairs to find William.

It all had to be over now. They needed to stop pretending. Ryan needed to cry and William needed to breathe. And, after supper, they were going to talk.