I came home on Monday with a new account, a headache, and takeout Thai to an empty apartment. I checked my watch—almost eight—and called Justin. He answered from his studio, his newest canvas and an incredibly loud, incredibly grating drilling noise in the background. Jesus, what is that? I said.

Sandstorm, he said. Lately he'd been painting weather.

I rolled my eyes. These fucking Deaf guys. Not that. The noise.

Oh, they're doing construction upstairs. Expanding gallery C. They've been working all day.

Christ, you're lucky you can't hear.

He grinned. I'm always lucky I can't hear.

Yeah, yeah. You know what time it is?

He looked at his watch. Yeah?

So...weren't people coming over tonight?

Oh. I pushed it until tomorrow. He rubbed his nose, all fake nonchalance.

I stared him down.

He whined and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Tomorrow, he said. I'll do it tomorrow.

Do what you want. I don't care if you never do it. But come home. I have a shitload of food here because I thought I was feeding your brood.

Justin got home half an hour later and joined me in the shower with a deep kiss. His skin felt gritty under my hands, and I watched the water run cloudy off of him. I took his arm and turned it over, looking at the fine white dust that coated his skin, caught in his hair like snow.

The fuck is this? I said.

What?

I swiped my finger down his cheek and showed it to him.

Oh. He tilted his head back under the shower spray. Construction. The whole office is dusty.

I like Marie, but one of these days I'm gonna sue her. Did you go ahead and call out for Thursday and Friday?

Very funny.

Not joking. Thursday and Friday at the latest.

He scoffed.

If you do it now you can tell Marie you're going out of town, if you want. Marie's understanding as hell, knew the deal with Justin when she hired him, but he still hates being the little lamb who has to keep taking sick days.

He said, I'm not telling her anything because I'm not missing work.

Bullshit. I sudsed up his hair. This shit is all over you.

Doesn't matter. I'm not going to get sick.

As if you don't take any fucking excuse to get sick. Lean back. Don't stay late and paint tomorrow, at least. Not until they're done with this.

I can't stay late and paint tomorrow anyway. People are coming over.

You're going to cancel again.

No I'm not.

You're going to cancel tomorrow, and you're going to get sick. Mark my words.

I am not getting sick, and I am going to tell our friends. Daphne's free tomorrow. It's better than doing it today. He closed his eyes as I rinsed him clean.

You are so full of shit.

Sorry, eyes are closed, can't hear you.

I shoved him against the shower wall and felt him up, and he smiled, eyes still closed.

“Get on your fucking knees,” he growled, and...well. I did.

**

We were each one for one, it turned out. He didn't cancel on his friends, and he was coughing when he got home the next day. Daphne was already there—she'd had her day off—and she raised an eyebrow at his hacking as she ate leftover Thai from her perch on our counter.

There's probably fucking asbestos in that shit, I groused.

There's no asbestos, Justin said.

Daphne said, Are you at least wearing a mask while they're stirring all that up?

Justin scrunched his face up. Should I be?

I stared at him. Are you fucking kidding me?

Nobody else is wearing a mask!

Yes, and as we discovered when you had that asthma attack and no inhaler, no one else there has your shitty lungs. Christ, are you new to this?

I did bring my inhaler! Justin said.

All right, that's something. It's able to learn, I said to Daphne. Put it in the file.

Noted, Daphne said.

I'll wear a mask tomorrow, Justin said, with a nasty cough.

Cool. I wiped down the counter. You can also go ahead and tell them tomorrow's your last day this week.

Justin groaned. I'm not getting sick! What time are they going to be here?

Eight, Daphne said. You're sure you're ready for this?

Nope! Justin signed over his shoulder, and he went to shower all that shit off of him.

Daphne studied me. “How about you, are you ready?” It was barely jarring to switch between languages by that point. I was used to Justin deciding whether to sign or speak based on whatever kind of whims go through that boy's head, and now with Emily at work and the staff mandated to practice at least the basics I was code-switching there every other minute too. I'd get tied up with the structure sometimes, signing just really abysmally English sentences or reading over a work email and realizing the whole thing was in ASL grammar, but beyond that I was feeling bilingual as fuck and it was doing good things to my ego.

And now I took advantage of the language change to avoid looking at her. “I don't have to do anything. I just sit there. I'm moral support.”

“Aren't advertisers supposed to be convincing?”

Now I gave her a look. “I'm going to be so lovely and comforting. You'll be amazed.”

“I would be amazed, it's true,” she said, flipping through our junk mail.

“He's not supposed to comfort them,” I said. “That's his whole challenge. Tell someone without holding their hand about it.”

“How'd that come about?”

“Uh, I realized that Justin's entire life for the past nine years has been reassuring people that he's okay because otherwise he knows they'll fucking fall apart.”

She took a bite of some eggplant. “It's probably really fucking exhausting being as loved as he is,” she said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I really don't envy it.” I studied her. “How about you, are you ready to relive the adventure?”

“A seven-year-old died in my ER yesterday,” she said. “Last week it was a pregnant woman. At this point, I can talk about anyone who lived.”

I kissed her forehead. “Being a doctor sounds great.”

“Mmm.”

I poured two glasses of scotch and handed her one. “You know, your signing's getting really fantastic.”

She blushed. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well. I've had plenty of practice lately,” she said, with a grin.

“Oh yeah, and how's that going?” She gave a fluttery sigh and rested her head against the wall, and I laughed. “I can't believe I'm fucking involved in your relationship,” I said. “I gave him advice, for God's sake. Brian Kinney, helping out the heterosexuals.”

“God bless us, every one.”

“I'm telling you, it's weird,” I said. “Being friends with a straight person. Very new to me.”

“What the fuck do you call you and me?”

I waved her off. “You don't count, you're like my sister.”

“Hey, fuck you, I've met your sister.”

“Plus it's different with guys,” I said. “Straight girls always love gay guys. It's in your DNA.”

“Yeah, remember when I said 'hey, fuck you?'”

“I've never been friends with a straight guy,” I said. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Paranoid.”

I shrugged. “You don't get it.” I shouldn't have said anything. How the fuck do you explain this shit to a twenty-something who's been best friends with a gay guy since she was a kid?

How do you explain it to a straight person?

“Maybe not,” she said.

I listened to Justin cough in the shower. “Sounds bad.”

She gave me a look, sipping her drink.

“What?” I said.

“Any chance you're being a little clingy because prom stuff is in the mix?”

“I didn't realize you were on your psych rotation.”

“Ha, ha.”

“I'm not being clingy, I'm being annoyed,” I said. “He's got no fucking immune system. Can you explain that one, doctor?”

“Sure. Stress of the epilepsy. His body's essentially running a marathon every time he has a seizure. Doesn't have any strength left to fight shit off.”

I leaned against the counter. “That's immensely depressing.”

“I thought you two were very zen about this kind of thing.”

I drained my glass. “In theory.”

Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her pocket. “Derek's on his way. Emily's with him.”

“Okay.”

“Ready to ambush them?”

“God, they think it's just some nice social call. How the fuck do you even lead into this?

“It's like an intervention for Justin's brain,” Daphne said. “Nine years too late.”

“Derek really doesn't know any of this?”

“Not that I know of. I've never told him.”

“He went to the hospital with Justin that time.”

“Ah, yes, when it was my turn to be ambushed.”

“I figured he might have heard all the medical history from that. But Justin said he didn't know.”

“Derek minds his business,” she said. “He's really easygoing about it, he just...lets you have your own shit.”

“Huh,” I said. Hard to imagine. I was used to Justin, who had not let me have a private thought in ten years.

“Yeah, it's kind of remarkable.”

Justin came out, wearing his lounging clothes and ruffling his hair with a towel. I swallowed, and he gave me a wry look.

It's not my fault, I said.

“Mmmhmm.”

I said, They're going to be here soon. You have a game plan for this, wheezy?

Run away and leave you to do it?

Innovative.

He sat down on the couch. What if they don't think it's a big deal? What if they're like, 'so what?'

Well, then Daphne beats them up.

Please. I can beat up my own friends.

The doorbell flashed, then, and I let in Emily and Derek. Emily immediately launched into her impossibly rapid fire signing about...something work-related, it looked like, while Derek attached himself to Daphne's face like he hadn't seen her in years.

Slow down, I told Emily.

I was supposed to send Cynthia the invoice from Eyeconics and I forgot. She's going to be really mad.

You can get on the office network from my laptop. Go do it now.

Thank you thank you thank you. I love you.

She ran off to the office, and I watched Daphne and Derek drink each other's spit against the wall. I nodded to Justin. How come you don't greet me like that?

My mouth's usually full with your cock.

I tilted my head. Now?

No, not now.

I don't like it.

Once Emily had finished not running my company in the ground and Daphne and Derek had finished exhausting each other's bodies of oxygen and generally exhibiting the most straight sex I'd seen in several dozen years, they dug into the rest of the Thai food and Justin sat on the counter and tried to start signing a few times and finally said, to me, There's literally no non-awkward way to start this.

Just start it, I said. The only thing I hate more than talking about the bashing is talking about the bashing for a long period of time. Just rip off the band-aid.

Emily wrinkled her forehead. What's going on?

Are you breaking up with us? Derek said, grinning.

Oh my God, am I getting fired? Emily said, very much not grinning.

Why would I fire you? Justin said. You don't work for me. That doesn't make any sense.

I don't know! I'm distraught!

Daphne said, Just listen to him, okay?

This is so goddamn awkward. Fuck.

Derek wasn't smiling anymore. Justin, what's going on?

You want to move to the couch? I asked Justin.

He shook his head. Here's fine. So uh...something happened to me a long time ago. And it's not something I tell a lot of people. But at this point...it's started to feel weird that you guys don't know. And I don't know why, because it's not like it matters...you don't have to do anything, I just...

Rambling, I said.

Justin looked at me. What?

You're stalling. It's okay.

Emily sat down at the table, and Derek leaned against the wall, holding Daphne's hand, watching Justin really carefully.

Justin looked at me. Can you tell the first part?

You know the story, I said.

It's not the same.

It was my turn to stall.

I can do it, Daphne said. You want me to do it?

I nodded shortly, and Justin said, Yeah, that's okay.

Daphne let go of Derek's hand. So Justin and Brian were...I don't know, what do you guys want to call it, dating?

Fucking, I corrected.

Whatever. During our senior year of high school. So then Justin asked him to our prom, but Brian said no because he was having a midlife crisis.

I was not—

Do you want to tell it? she said.

Derek looked at me. How old are you, anyway?

I made a show of examining my fingernails, because I could see Justin already starting to unravel next to me, and he needed some comic relief. I couldn't possibly put a number on it. Beauty like this is ageless.

So Justin and I went together, Daphne said. But then, during the prom, Brian came and swept his way in—

I had to fuck one of the chaperones to get in, I said to Justin.

He looked at me. Did you really?

Yeah. I never told you that? Someone's dad.

He covered his face. “Oh my God.”

I would have been in earlier if not for that, I said. Our big dance could have been to some teenybopper hit instead.

So Brian came in, and he danced with Justin...and it was amazing.

I took Justin's hands away from his face and pulled him into my arms, mouthing the words of the song to him. He watched my lips, and when I whispered, “You okay?” he nodded.

Emily said, Are there pictures?

We have one, Justin said. I'll get it in a minute.

Daphne said, And then they left, and then... She held her hands out to Justin.

He looked at me. “I changed my mind.”

I shook my head.

“You do it?”

Is that what you want?

He took a slow breath in. You'll tell me if I get it wrong?

Yeah. I steadied myself on the counter behind me.

The truth is, I hate when he tells it. I hate how it happened to someone else for him, until he gets to the moment he remembers, the the impact, the—God help me—the sound, and every time, I see him hit again. Every time, he flinches when he gets to the part he remembers.

Justin said, Brian and I went out to his car. And he, uh, he put his scarf around my neck? He looked at me.

I nodded.

And he kissed me, and he said goodnight.

I nodded again.

And he told me he loved me madly, deeply, passionately, forever and ever.

Nice try, I said, and Justin shot me a weak smile, and I don't think anyone's ever fucking been prouder of anyone.

Justin shook himself off a little. And then, uh, Brian got into his car. And I started walking away. And then... He looked at me, at Daphne. How do I even explain him?

I forced myself to breathe evenly. Some guy from your school, I said, my eyes hard on Justin. He doesn't matter.

Justin cleared his throat. This guy came up behind me with a metal bat and he bashed me in the head.

There it was, the flinch.

I love sign language, I do, but goddamn, the signs for violence are fucking violent, and I could live without them.

Emily put her hands over her mouth. Derek gripped Daphne's arm.

I'm okay, Justin said.

Don't, I said, harder than I should have, probably. Don't comfort them.

Justin nodded. Can you—

Yeah, I can do the rest. I skimmed my fingers down Justin's back. I was still there, so I stayed with him until the ambulance came. For a few days they didn't know if he was going to live, but he woke up after about a week, and about a month after that he got to come home. I tangled my fingers up with Justin's, and thought about home.

Emily said, Is that why you have seizures?

Yeah.

Emily got up and put her arms around Justin. Derek kept looking back and forth between me, Justin, Daphne.

I don't understand, he said. Why did that guy...

I said, “Daph, can you—”

Yeah, she said, and she put her hand on Derek's arm, got ready to explain homophobia to him.

Derek shook his head. No, I'm sorry, it's not...I understand, I just...fuck. I didn't know people still...because you danced together? Emily and I danced together at our prom, we danced...

Emily was up on her toes, still holding Justin.

Derek said, One time I was with Emily and this girl she was dating and this guy was hassling them but that...nobody touched them, I don't...

Daphne kissed his cheek.

I could hear Emily crying a little. “We should have told them separately,” I said softly.

Daphne looked at me.

I said, She's queer, this is different for her. We should have told her alone.

Justin was watching me over Emily's shoulder, a question in his eyes. A plea.

Give her to me, I said. We can comfort her, it's okay. I'll comfort her for you. You didn't mess up.

Thank you thank you thank you, Justin said, and he turned Emily into my arms, and then he went straight to Daphne and she kissed him and held him tight. Sometimes he just needs her.

Derek stood by, his hand on Justin's back, his eyes on me.

**

Justin had a migraine that night, from the stress and from the fact that he was fucking obviously getting sick, so we kicked everyone out pretty early and he lay in bed while I cleaned up the kitchen and got some work done in the dark. At least I didn't have to be quiet.

I came in after a while and slid up next to him. This okay? I said, It's never too dark to sign, really, not in New York.

He adjusted the ice pack on his head. Yeah.

I kissed him gently. You look nice.

Thank you. He leaned into my hand and I ran my thumb over his cheek. He sighed, this feathery little thing. It went okay, right?

Yeah, it did.

You'll check in on Emily tomorrow?

You're not supposed to be worrying about that.

Yeah, I know.

I said, You should stay home tomorrow.

He shook his head, wincing.

You're gonna fuck up your lungs breathing all that shit.

I'll wear a mask. He smiled at me a little. Being so nice to me.

No. I've never been nice to you in my life.

“Love me?”

“Yeah.”

He moved in close to me, resting his head on my chest. I could feel his pulse throbbing in his temple.

“Thank you for saving me,” he whispered.

You don't have to say that every time, I signed on him.

“Do the song,” he said, so I hummed “Save the Last Dance” behind his ear until he fell asleep.

**

Being nice to Justin the night before put me in a bad mood the next morning. It always does. It didn't help that Cynthia brought me contracts for our new account that looked like they'd been drawn up by a 1L.

I pounded on the buzzer until she came in, high heels clicking on the floor. “I will take that fucking buzzer away from you,” she said.

“Who the fuck did this contract?”

“Sebastian's on paternity leave, I think Kurt's running legal right now.”

“Has Kurt been to law school? Has Kurt ever seen a contract? Can Kurt read?”

“Do you need some Midol or something?”

“This thing is a fucking mess. If I send this over to Samson we'll be sued before the ink's dry. You blink wrong and you're in breach of this thing.”

“How many ways are there to blink...”

I shoved the contract at her. “Do something about this.”

“I'll send Emily down.”

“Thank you.”

The morning went quickly. Two clients wanted to come in for consultations next week, it looked like I wasn't going to be able to get out of spending a few days in London at the end of the month, Derek invited me out for lunch but I had a meeting, Justin “wasn't getting sick” but his “allergies happened to be acting up”—the fucking brain damage on this kid sometimes, I swear—and I got in touch with Sebastian to fake enthusiasm for his baby and offer him exorbitant amounts of money to work from home.

Emily came in at one and presented me with a new contract. It still needed some tweaking, but it was serviceable, at least. Thank God, I said. Thank you. I glanced up. She was wearing a new blouse and a gray houndstooth skirt. You look nice today.

Thank you, Mr. Kinney, she fingerspelled. I rolled my eyes and she smiled.

You doing okay? I asked.

Yeah. I'm sorry about yesterday. That was embarrassing.

I snorted. You should have seen me when it happened.

I actually wanted to ask you if I could get out of here a little early today, she said. I wanted to bring Justin some ice cream or something, make sure he doesn't like...think stuff is going to be weird between us now.

Ask Cynthia.

Okay, but tell her to say yes first.

I laughed. All right. Oh, meet him outside the gallery, don't go inside. I don't need you hacking up a lung too.

You got it, Mr. Kinney.

Get the fuck out of my office.

**

Justin came home from his ice cream date hacking and wheezing and gave me a tired wave on the way to the shower. I ordered in Italian and gave him a look when he got out.

I might not feel fantastic, he said.

Maybe not. I felt his forehead. Huh, how about that?

I just got out of the shower, of course I'm hot.

He woke me up shivering in the middle of the night. At first I thought he was having a nightmare—I knew right away it wasn't a seizure; after you're jolted out of sleep five or ten times by one of those, you don't really mistake them for anything else—but when I reached over to check on him his t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. I shook him until he woke up, blinking blearily at me.

Did you just get out of the shower? I asked him.

He groaned and pushed his face into his pillow.

**

We were quiet in the morning, except for his breathing. He was still running a low fever, and Marie didn't seem surprised when he called her and told her. He packed up his stuff without too much of a discussion, and we took a cab out to the office so he wouldn't have to mess with the subway transfer, his head resting on my shoulder. I let him.

He stayed annoyingly awake. He managed a couple conference calls from my couch, worked on some Rage panels, and coughed, and coughed, and coughed. I had a light day compared to the one before, but I was still planning to get some work done, and it was almost eleven and I'd done nothing but stare at files and answer a few emails. Jesus. He was breathing like a TB victim and complaining that he was bored every five minutes. Distracting as shit.

It was also distracting that he was wearing his MoMa sweatshirt, the big one that goes all the way over his knees, and his hair was mussed up and there was a red flush under his nose and over his cheekbones, and he was beautiful.

It shouldn't have been distracting me this much. He was kind of sick. He got kind of sick a lot. He was fine. There was no reason for me to be glancing over at him every five goddamn seconds.

You don't actually need to be in your psych rotation to figure out why I was being a little clingy.

It always takes a few days to stop hearing the bat.

I wonder how long it takes for him.

“Brrrrrrrian?”

It's really mean how you do that.

“Sorry,” he said, which was exactly as fucking manipulative, with that R in the middle.

Aren't you supposed to be sleeping? I thought you were deathly ill. You see pretty healthy to me.

He sneezed for the billionth time and blew his nose.

That's more like it.

He coughed for a while. Could you be right about something other than me getting sick sometimes? It'd be a nice change of pace.

Bite me. You want the nebulizer?

Not yet. His hand started to shake, and he stretched it out on his knee. “You said soup?” he said. I'd had to bribe him to get him to come to the office. He wanted to stay home.

I pointed to the door. Your hands work. Or one of them, anyway. Ask Emily.

“I don't want to get up.”

Cynthia can hear you if you yell from here. Tell her to get Emily.

“Briaaaaaan.”

I put down the file I was looking at. Oh my God. I'm fucking garbage about his voice anyway, and that wheeze was not helping.

He smiled at me sheepishly.

You're impossible. I said.

I know. He wrinkled up his nose, trying not to sneeze, and I groaned and dropped my head down to my desk. I heard him laughing and then—

“Bri?”

I lifted my head up. Derek was standing at the door, arms full of paper bags. Huh.

I looked at Justin, who shrugged.

I got up and said, You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard your voice? I took the bags from him. Chinese food, going by the smell.

Give me another year and I'll have the second syllable down, Derek said.

I set the bags down on my desk and kissed his cheek. What the fuck are you doing here?

Emily told me you hadn’t had lunch. He startled a little when Justin moved on the couch. Hey, I didn’t see you there. Doesn’t my mom need you to run her life?

Sick, Justin said. Practically dying.

You don’t look that bad.

I said, Yeah, well, you can’t hear the wheeze.

Ah, fair enough. Luckily... He opened the bags and took out a container of soup. You like wonton? he asked Justin.

I love you, Justin said.

I looked through the bags as Derek brought the soup over to the couch. You really didn't know he was here? There's enough food for a fucking army.

I like Chinese food, Derek said. Fucking kids.

What do I owe you for this? I said.

No, it's on me. I rolled my eyes and took my wallet out, but he shook his head as he pulled a chair up to the desk. Stop, I mean it.

I can barely see the conversation if he sits there! Justin said.

I said, Good. Nothing to distract you. Eat your—bless you. Eat your soup and go to sleep.

Derek smiled a little as I sat down. You're funny with him.

So I've heard. I went through the bags. You really didn't know he was here? I figured you and Emily would be teaming up to parent him a little this week.

He's older than me.

He's not older than anyone.

Derek shook his head. Here to see you.

Christ, you're not here to parent me, are you?

He laughed. No. I wanted to talk to you, and since you blew me off yesterday...

You just show up at the office? You should know, last time someone was this persistent with me I ended up marrying him.

You don't scare me, Derek said, which...was strange, if you thought about it, since he was this twenty-five-year-old straight guy, and everything I'd constructed about myself was specifically to scare twenty-five-year-old straight guys.

He scooped out some rice.

If you have questions about what we told you, you can just ask, I said. God knows I've explained it to his brain-damaged ass plenty of times.

He shook his head. Daphne filled in the gaps.

All right, so what is it? I said. Is it private? Need me to smother him with a pillow?

It wouldn't take long, Justin said.

Derek shook his head, reaching into his backpack. Not private. I just wanted to get your opinion on something.

I rolled my eyes.

What? he said.

You're not here to get my opinion on anything. You're checking up on me, just like you wanted to do yesterday, and you're trying to be sly about it.

He took out a folder. Shit, what's this, then? A mysterious folder! Is it full of techniques for how to soothe Brian?

Give me that. I snatched it out of his hands and looked it over while Derek helped himself to an egg roll and Justin made some rather horrifying rasping noises. The folder was full of information about a school in Greece. Study abroad?

He nodded. All of next semester. But they're only giving me a partial scholarship and I'd have to hire my own interpreter.

I leaned back in my chair. Do you need money?

What the fuck? No, I didn't come to ask you for money. I told you, I want your opinion.

People never want my opinion, I said. They want me to fix their problems. I said it as a joke, but as soon as it was out of my hands it kind of...I don't know, hit me, so it was suddenly very important that I clarify, Except for Justin.

I don't have a problem, Derek said. I have a decision to make, and you're smart about pros and cons and shit like that. I just want to know what you'd do in my shoes.

He sat there chewing nonchalantly, like this was nothing, and I tried to remember the last time someone—except for Justin, like I said—had asked me what I thought about something.

Tried to remember if a straight person had ever, ever put me in their shoes.

I cleared my throat and looked down at the file. All right. So, Greece for philosophy.

Exactly. Back to, you know, the philosophical motherland. So that's amazing.

How would it work with the interpreter?

Yeah, so our group would have a Greek-to-English translator with us, and then my interpreter would work from them. So at this point I'm getting everything filtered twice, plus I'm thinking...it jus seems so awkward, having my own personal interpreter with me for an entire semester.

Marlee Matlin's done it for twenty years, Justin weighed in.

Go to sleep.

Derek said, Everyone I've talked to says they wish they'd taking study abroad opportunities when they were in college. Did you do it?

I shook my head, looking over the class schedule for the program. I didn't have the money.

Oh, shit, try these peapods.

I speared a few off of his plate. So you want to think about the experience, but you also want to think about your eventual goals and how this is going to look to employers. You want to teach. Are people hiring you going to care that you spent a semester in Greece? Is that a selling point?

I think so.

So that's something. You're right, these are amazing.

The soup's good too, Justin said.

Go to sleep.

I'm eating.

There's also the issue of, you know, of Daphne, Derek said.

Ah. Does she know?

He shook his head. I don't have to make a decision for a month, so I figured why rush into that conversation. He cracked open a soda. I don't know. This thing with us is pretty new, and a semester is a long time.

She wouldn't want you turn this down for her, I said.

It's not about turning it down for her. It's about...I don't know. Recognizing the relationship as an opportunity, just like study abroad is an opportunity.

This is very sappy for me, I said.

Yeah, well, I'd like to get married before I'm...however old you were when you finally gave up and admitted you had feelings. Forty-five.

I said, I can have you removed from this office, you know.

He crossed his legs. Have you two ever been apart longterm like that?

Well, there was that week I was unconscious, Justin chimed in.

I slapped the folder down. What I would not give for you to repeat that right about—

Jesus, fine! I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping. He scrunched himself up on the couch.

I turned back to Derek. He lived in LA for four months at one point.

How was that?

I shrugged. Fine.

Liar, he said, chuckling.

You need one person to not freak out, I said. Trust me, that's all it takes. And neither you or Daphne is the panicking type. You'd be fine.

How long had you two been together when he did that?

You can't measure that, I said.

What the fuck does that mean, you can't measure that? You two are on some different space-time continuum from the rest of us?

Yep.

He shoveled out more chicken. You're so annoying.

I've heard.

Was he Deaf then?

No, no, before that. I sighed. Fine. We met when he was seventeen. He moved in with me after he got out of the hospital, stayed with me for a little under a year.

Stayed with you, huh? Like a boarder?

No way was I touching this one. But he was all...he was pretty messed up still, and I was potentially not amazing about it, and eventually he went to see if he could have a relationship with someone less emotionally stunted. Realized he couldn't, came crawling back, we took down a politician, I did the whole cancer thing, he moved to LA.

Fuck. You two have been through a lot.

I gave him a look. Don't push your luck. We're not bursting into tears over Brian and Justin's greatest hits.

God, how do you walk around with an ego that size?

Years of practice.

Why'd he come back?

I adjusted my sleeve. Movie he was working on was cancelled.

What if it hadn't been?

I shrugged.

No, come on.

Why does it matter?

He hesitated. I don't know. Because I want to know that there's more to this shit than just coincidence. That people aren't just together because movies were cancelled, or because I didn't get enough of a scholarship to Greece.

But that's how it works, I said. Things happen, or they don't. What do you want me to say, that Justin and are fated from the stars?

Why do you always take everything up to eleven, he said. Sometimes I just want to hear you would have moved to LA.

Why, are you planning to make Daphne move to Greece?

Do you want me to check behind me to make sure he's asleep before he overhears you saying something nice about him?

He didn't need to; Justin wasn't asleep, I could tell, but he wasn't watching, either.

I tapped on my desk. You have to understand, this was a long time ago. He came from LA and it was another two years before he even started losing his hearing. And that was four years ago. It's been a while.

You're right, you wouldn't to let it slip how long you've had feelings for your husband.

Justin started coughing again, curling up tighter, and I watched him over Derek's shoulder. If I say I would have moved to LA, we can go back to to talking about your study abroad?

Sure.

All right. Probably, eventually, I would have moved to LA. Happy?

Yeah, pretty happy.

Why does it matter?

He flipped through the study abroad papers. I don't want you to think I'm some pathetic asshole if I end up deciding not to go to Greece because I prioritize this thing with Daphne.

So you came over to teach me about the power of true love?

Derek rolled his eyes. I came over to get your opinion. Why is that so hard to believe?

Go to Greece, that's my opinion. Send her postcards.

He nodded. I'll take it under advisement.

Good. Hang on a second. I stamped on the floor until Justin looked over. Are you okay?

He shrugged, rubbing his chest.

You want the nebulizer now?

Yeah.

Okay, hang on. I turned back to Derek. Sorry, I have to deal with this.

It's fine, I have a one-thirty class. He stood up and started clearing off my desk. Thanks for your help on this.

I said, You know you're not fooling me, right? I went over to the couch.

Fooling you? Derek said.

You think I'm all sad and damaged from talking about the bashing, so you came over with a segue into our relationship history so I'd realize all we've gotten through in the past and I wouldn't worry too much about the little lamb. I checked Justin's temperature with his forehead against my cheek—felt like 101, maybe a little lower—and started setting up the nebulizer.

Derek shook his head slowly. It must be a trip, being you.

You have no idea.

I wanted your advice, he said. I really should have had a shirt made that said that before I came.

I rubbed Justin's back as he wheezed his way into another coughing fit. My urgent advice on the study abroad decision you don't have to make for a month? Plug this in, would you?

Derek did, and I handed Justin the mouthpiece and kept rubbing circles. Okay, look, Derek said. I know you don't...make friends with straight people very often. And I thought it was just, I don't know, that you couldn't relate to them or whatever. I hadn't really given it a lot of thought.

I watched him, tangling my fingers in the hair at the back of Justin's neck.

Look, he said. You're white, you're hearing, I tend to think you're pretty untouchable. But now I get that... Derek shrugged. There's a risk there. You probably can't trust me all the way. So I wanted to come and show you that I respect your opinions and your experience and that I love you, okay?

I chewed my cheek and managed to nod a little.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder. And if I manged to do make you feel secure about Justin at the same time, well, that's just how amazing I am.

God damn you.

He grinned and squeezed Justin's knee. Bye. Feel better.

Bye, Justin said, still really struggling over there, and Derek gave me a wink on his way out. Little shit.

I sighed and leaned back on the couch, tucking Justin under my arm. There you go. You okay?

I'm okay. Are you okay?

I think I'm having feelings.

Yikes.

Yeah. How do you know if you're having feelings?

He rested his cheek on my shoulder, and I kissed his forehead.

Is this what it's supposed to be like? I asked him after a minute.

What, everything?

Yeah.

He nodded, pulling his legs up onto my lap.

Okay, I said, squeezing his hand as it started to shake again. Okay, I could get used to this.