Unsaid

LaVieEnRose

I was like an anxious puppy waiting for Brian and Evan to get home from work that Thursday, waiting by the front door practically fucking bouncing up and down when Brian pulled into the driveway. And then they were so fucking goddamn slow getting out of the car! Like I hadn't already been waiting for hours!

They came in finally, and Brian gave me a bemused look as he kissed me. Why are you vertical? Evan nuzzled his nose against my cheek on the way to wash his hands.

Shut up, I'm vertical like a quarter of the time.

He looked unconvinced, but then he smiled and drummed on my shoulders a few times and said, We got Disney.

I'd...completely fucking forgotten that meeting was today in all the excitement of the past few hours, which was ridiculous since it was all they'd been talking about for weeks. Which was understandable because I mean...come on. It's fucking Disney.

I knew it! I said. I knew you would!

Brian's smile grew, nice and slowly, and then he picked me up and spun me around and kissed me. Evan grinned at us from the kitchen.

This means you're getting your beach house, you know, Brian said.

I bit my lip and bounced a little. I'm getting my beach house.

They're coming back tomorrow for more strategizing, he said. But we shook on it today. We're in. Jane's going to the fucking Taj Mahal of preschools. Evan's going to get some clothes that actually fit him.

My clothes are fine!

And you. Brian kissed me between my eyes. Are getting your beach house. Out of the pollen, he said, and he kissed the tip of my nose when I scrunched it up.

You're amazing and I love you, I said.

He sighed deeply. I know. My burden to bear.

What are you going to get? I asked him.

I assumed you'd let me use your beach house.

Oh, maybe, I said. I tugged on his shirt. I have news.

Brian raised an eyebrow. You have news?

I unlocked my phone, opened up the email, and held it up to him. Evan came over as he took it and squished in next to him to see, and Brian instinctively slung his arm over his neck and pulled him in, running his hand over Evan's head as he read. He saw it before Evan did, and he squeezed him close and looked up at me, his eyes glowing, his lip between his teeth.

Evan touched the screen. Is that your white blood cell count?

I nodded.

That's... He looked up at Brian. That's normal, right?

That's normal, Brian said, watching me.

It's very, very low normal, I said. It's like the lowest it can be and still be normal.

But it's normal! Evan said.

I nodded, and he bounced over and hugged me, and I squeezed him tight and buried my nose in his shoulder. Brian just watched me, his thumb in his mouth, and when we locked eyes he tilted his head to the side.

You really just had to steal my beach house thunder, didn't you? he said, and I grinned.

Everything was so perfect, for a little.

**

We went out to celebrate Kinnetik's boatloads of cash and my barely-functional immune system at Sidetracks, the bar in Sunnyside next to the train—get it, Sidetracks—where we gather nowadays. Emily came out, of course, to commemorate the massive bonus she'd be getting,and Daph had to work but Derek came.

So you're fixed? Derek said to me.

It's still the low end of normal, I said.

Brian sipped his beer. His lungs are still bullshit.

Emily nudged me. But you can come to Orlando, right?

You're going to Orlando?

Next month, Emily said. The Disney people are flying us out. We need to see the product, obviously!

I looked at Evan. And you? He's... we love Evan, but as far as Kinnetik's concerned he's not exactly essential personnel.

I was going to stay with you, he said.

No, come, Emily said. She was getting excited. Both of you come, and we'll bring Gwen and Jane and we'll make it a whole thing!

Evan said, Oh my God, Jane at Disney.

Derek said, You have to get her ears!

Brian smiled a little but waved for their attention and said, Justin can't do Disney World. I mouthed “Thank you,” to him, and he winked at me.

Emily said, Why not?

Brian said, It's walking all day, he gets too tired, which was, obviously, true, but hadn't even occurred to me. I was more focused on the crowds, the people, the four hours on a plane breathing the germs of those crowds and people...

Yeah, you'd push him, Emily said. You can rent wheelchairs there. We did it after my mom had knee surgery.

Brian tapped his lips. That's got to be a great tricep workout.

Disney's like, the best place in the world to use a wheelchair, Emily said. It's so accessible.

Brian pointed at her and set down his bottle. This sounds like an ad campaign.

Oh, it's a fucking ad campaign all right. I have ideas.

How are they with signing?

Amazing, Emily said, and like that she and Brian were off in advertising world, and Evan and Derek were off in oh my God pictures of Jane with princesses world, and I was...i n the actual world, trying to swallow down some very vague panic.

Something with a good bass beat started playing, and Emily pulled Evan up to dance—those two are like joined at the hip nowadays—and Derek went to order another drink. Brian gave me a look over his beer bottle.

“Can I help you?” I asked him.

I don't know, he said, and then he pulled my stool closer to his and we made out for a while, and that was nice. We broke away eventually so I could breathe, and he watched me while he sipped his beer.

“Once again, can I help you?”

What's up with you?

I don't know. Nothing. I traced the rim of my water glass. You don't really want to go to Disney World, do you?

He shrugged. I've got to go anyway.

“Yeah.”

We should probably see if we can borrow Gus for it. If he finds out after the fact he'll throw a shitfit. Do you want a drink?

I shook my head.

One won't hurt you.

I'm okay.

You need to relax.

Yeah, I know.

Brian seemed a little keyed-up too, not in a bad way, just kind of energized. He was happy; I was doing better, he'd gotten this huge account. He was happy. And I was being a stick in the mud.

Thank God Evan came bouncing over a minute later. I want to go out, he said to Brian.

Brian slapped his hand on the table. Fuck yes. I have E.

Thank GOD. Yes.

You just brought E with you? I said.

Yeah, why wouldn't I? They're both still just club kids at heart, now with a respectable house in the suburbs.

Don't you have a huge meeting tomorrow? I said.

They gave me identical what are you talking about faces. These two are incorrigible. Half a tab, Brian said.

Yeah, half a tab, Evan said. He looked at Brian. Each, right?

Well, obviously each, we're not toddlers. Brian poked me. You coming? Test out that new immune system? No E for you.

No, Evan agreed. Seizures just kill the whole mood.

I rolled my eyes. No, I'm tired. I'm going to go home.

Come for a little while, Evan said.

I won't be fun.

You're never fun, Brian said. We like you anyway.

You're going to pay for that.

He grinned.

I kissed Brian, then Evan, making sure Evan's kiss was a lot longer. Brian flicked my shoulder. I'll see you at home, I said. Have fun.

We'd taken the train here—my first subway ride since my immune system crashed, very weird—and I knew they assumed I'd take it back, but the tracks are elevated here and the closest stop with an elevator was six blocks in the wrong direction, and I thought about the people and the grime and I just...hailed a cab, where I had my phone say my address to the cab driver and kept my hands pulled into my sleeves. I got home and got in the shower and tried to get myself to snap out of whatever the fuck was pulling me down. We were rich. I had white blood cells. My husband and boyfriend were out having fun together. This is the stuff of dreams.

I stayed in the shower for a long time, then got out and sat on oxygen for a while because I thought maybe that was my problem, but that didn't help, so then I moved to the couch and flipped through TV channels and tried to just zone out for a while. I was considering texting Brian and Evan because my catastrophe brain was starting to think maybe they'd overdosed and died even though it wasn't even late, when the front door opened and there they were, laughing and knocking each other around.

I pointed to the hand sanitizer.

We're going to stop coddling you soon, Brian said, but they used it. Evan came over and kissed me.

You should have seen the guy Brian hooked up with, he said. I think he was on Law and Order.

Everyone's been on Law and Order, I said.

Not you, Brian said. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he grinned and licked his teeth.

Evan bent over and squeezed me as Brian went to the kitchen. God, you're beautiful. I smiled at him and kissed the bridge of his nose.

Brian came back with two bottles of water and handed one to me and nudged Evan's shoulder with the other. You don't drink enough, he said to Evan.

I drink vodka.

I'm not reassured.

Sounds like a you problem.

Brian tugged on my wrist. Come take a shower.

I took a shower.

Come take another shower.

We're abandoning Evan.

Evan wants to paint, Brian said.

He bounced. I'm going to paint!

He's been talking about it since the E hit, Brian said. He kissed Evan's cheek and gave his hand holding the water bottle a shake. I mean it, okay?

I know, I know.

E always makes Brian handsy as hell, and he was all over me in the shower, running his fingers through my hair and sucking water off my neck. He nuzzled the scruff on my cheek. Why's it so soft, he said. I love it.

You're high.

He nodded and kissed me.

We fucked in the shower, and then again once we were settled in bed, and Brian counted out my meds and made me double check them before I took them, and I felt really safe and taken care of and warm with his body wrapped around mine, which made it all the more startling when I dreamed that my lungs were filling up with blood and my skin was sloughing off and my throat was clogged with bile and I woke up in a pure fucking panic absolutely fucking sure that I was going to die.

The light was on, and Brian was kneeling in front of me, his eyes soft and his hair wild. Justin. Justin.

No, I— I couldn't fucking breathe.

You're okay. Just a dream. You're home, everything's okay.

I can't breathe.

Yes you can, come on.

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears and my stomach. The whole room was spinning. “I can't—”

Okay. Brian moved to the bed and sat next to me. You're hyperventilating. You need to slow down.

How the fuck was I supposed to slow down when I couldn't fucking breathe? I sucked in a breath and started coughing and couldn't stop. I'm going to die, I told him.

Justin, you're fine. You're just pissing off your lungs breathing like that.

Oxygen...

Once you slow down, he said.

No, I said, but after that I couldn't argue anymore because all I could do was cough. Brian tried to touch me and I flinched away and wrapped my arms around my head and sobbed and coughed and coughed and fucking coughed.

Finally I could focus on Brian, and he was just sitting there perfectly still, his eyes focused on me. Can you breathe through your nose? he asked.

I shook my head.

Okay. Pursed lips then. Slow in. One. Two. Three.

I shook my head.

You can do it, come on.

I gave it a shot and immediately started coughing again. It's not going to work, I can't breathe, Brian I can't breathe.

No, that was good. Do it again. Nice and slow, in...out now. Slow. You can do it.

I choked on a sob.

Shh, stop. Slow. You're safe. You can breathe.

It took so many fucking repetitions of sitting there breathing before I was convinced I might not die that night. He hesitantly reached for my hand once I'd stopped coughing for real, and I nodded and tucked myself into his shoulder.

He pulled back and looked at me. Hey, are you..

I wiped my eyes. “What?”

He shook his head a little. Are you having a seizure?

What?

Christ, you're shaking so fucking hard, I thought...Okay. Come here. He pulled me into his arms and we stayed like that for a long time, my fingernails digging into his shirt.

He got up and got me a Klonopin after a while, and I shrugged when he asked me if I wanted to talk about it so he didn't push. We lay down together as the pill started to kick in, and he kept his arms around me and nuzzled at my cheek. He was beginning to fall back asleep, and he reached up and cupped my cheek.

It's okay, he signed, his eyes closing.

I nodded, and he kissed me and rested his forehead against mine.

The next thing I knew it was morning, and Brian was still sprawled out on top of me, his brow slightly furrowed like it always is when he sleeps, like it's something that requires a lot of concentration. He looked beautiful and very exhausted in the light, and I stretched carefully to my phone to check the time. About forty minutes until his alarm was set to go off, and given the E and the fact that he'd spent half the night after the E up with his hysterical partner, I figured he could use every last one of them.

However, I was feeling a little like a shaky anxious mess who needed comfort, so, you know, thank God for polyamory. I squirmed slowly out of the bed so I wouldn't wake him and walked out into the main room. I expected Evan to be up already—he usually gets up super early to run, then has a shower and messes around on his laptop until Brian and I get up for breakfast—but the lights were still off in here and nothing looked disturbed. Guess Brian wasn't the only one shaking off a hangover.

I went to the staircase in the hall behind the kitchen and made my way down carefully. We'd had railings installed on both sides of all the stairs in the house so I could always hang on with my good hand, and it was amazing what a difference it made. Evan was sleeping with his arms up over his head, like he always does, and the sun streamed through his window and made lines on his cheek. I crawled up onto the bed and dropped kisses down his jawline until he opened his eyes.

“Hey,” he mouthed, and I did it back. He freed a hand from underneath me and signed, How are you?

Okay. Did you do your painting?

He nodded to the other side of the room, and I rolled over onto my back to look. Evan's basement is big, like a second version of our main room upstairs, complete with its own kitchen and bathroom. He'd set up an easel, I think a hand-me-down of mine, over by the far end, and there was a half-finished painting of a vase of flowers.

I like it, I said.

He stretched. Thank you. He traced his hand down my side, tangling up my shirt at my waist.

I think I scared Brian last night, I said.

He tugged me closer. What happened?

Nightmare. Couldn't breathe.

He frowned and kissed me gently. He's still asleep?

Yeah.

You should be too.

I wanted someone.

Oh, just anyone?

Yeah, doesn't matter.

He laughed and rolled over onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I kissed his neck and slipped my hands under his shirt and felt his throat flutter under my lips. He smelled like sugar and cream and we fooled around for a while. It was slow and sleepy and really nice, and we were still tangled up when the lights flicked from the top of the stairs. I let Evan handle the yelling up the stairs—Brian always makes fun of me because I never know how loud to be—and a minute later Brian came down the stairs. Hello, kittens, he said, and I laughed into Evan's shirt.

How are you feeling? Evan asked him.

Ready to charm the pants off Disney. Coffee's on.

Evan stretched and nudged me. Move, he said, and I pouted and slid off him. He kissed my cheek three times and hauled himself out of bed.

Brian let Evan go up the stairs but caught me by the wrist on my way. Hey.

“Hey.”

You okay?

I nodded, and he pulled me into him with his hand on the back of my head. I kissed his neck. “I'm sorry.”

He stroked my hair a few times, then let me go. Do you want to come to the office today? he asked, pseudo-casual.

I shook my head. I didn't want to be alone, really, but they were busy and it wasn't a good day for me to be underfoot, and I was okay. “I want to go to my studio, get some work done.”

“Okay.” Brian squeezed my hand between both of his, just for a second. Come eat, sneezy.

“Yeah.”

Brian nagged me into eating some toast and Evan into staying hydrated and we both nagged Brian into eating something with actual vitamins, and then I kissed them and sent them off to work. I did want to get to the studio, but the physical stress of last night kind of hit me like a train, and I ended up going back to bed and sleeping like a rock for a few hours. I woke up feeling kind of vaguely uneasy, like I'd had a nightmare I didn't quite remember, which is a pretty regular occurrence but got to me more than it usually did. I shook it off and ate some lunch and got dressed and headed to the studio. It's just two subway stops away, but I got a car.

I was working on this three dimensional mixed-media thing, which was...not at all up my alley, but I'd had an idea and figured what did I have to lose? It's not like the household was counting on me to rake in cash. Why not fuck around with some weird stuff?

I was melting glass and sticking it together when my phone started flashing and Brian's picture popped up. I swiped it with my elbow. “Hi.”

He was sitting at his desk, looking fucking devastating. Hey, Brancusi. Working hard?

“Something like that. What's up?”

He rolled his chair back and forth a little. Just saying hi.

He was worried. Brian. I smiled at him. “Hi. How are the meetings going?”

Good. He tapped on his keyboard or a minute. You seen the pollen counts in Orlando?

I cleared my throat. “No. You know if you're pushing me you won't be able to talk to me."

I don't want to talk to you anyway. Seriously, this is amazing. None of those fucking London planes that make you sneeze your head off. I think when this trip is over I might just leave you there permanently.

“Yeah, I remember when I was a kid I didn't have to take my meds when we went because the stuff that grows there is so different.”

I didn't know you'd been.

“Everyone goes when they're a kid.”

Not me.

“Yeah, but your childhood was exceedingly tragic.”

Yours wasn't exactly a Thomas Kincaide. He chewed the inside of his cheek. So, what, you didn't like it?

I shrugged. “Can we talk about something else?”

He tapped his fingers over his mouth, studying me. Sure.

I showed him my progress on the sculpture.

Not bad.

“Thanks. You want chicken piccata tonight?”

He kept studying me. Okay.

I squirmed. “I'm gonna get back to work, okay? I'll see you tonight. I love you.”

Yeah, he said, his eyes a little narrowed. Okay.

I hung up the phone and tried to slow my heart down.

**

Brian and Evan came home late and exhausted, and Brian filled up a glass of whiskey right away, and one for Evan. He held up the bottle to me and I shook my head.

Meetings all goddamn day, Brian said. I need a humanity detox.

They're so happy all the time, Evan said. Does that mean we need to be happy when we go there?

No, Brian said. If they can be smiley Floridians up here, we can be sullen New Yorkers there.

I'm wearing black the whole trip, Evan said.

Is there any other color? Brian said, then gestured carelessly to me. Sorry.

I rolled my eyes and coughed into my elbow. Chicken's in the oven.

Evan kissed my cheek. How was your day? Did you get to the studio?

I glued some shit together.

We talked more about my project and Evan's painting and Gus's hockey game as we got dinner ready, so that was okay. But then a few minutes into dinner the conversation about Gus turned into a conversation about whether or not Gus would be able to come to Disney World, and Brian was all on my case about how I was picking at my food but I couldn't breathe right and my stomach was tightening up and they were just sitting there talking about interpreters at Disney like everything was already fine and set in stone and this was fucking ridiculous.

Do you have to pay for a wheelchair? Evan asked.

I think it's like twenty-five dollars a day, Brian said.

Should be free.

Yeah. Probably trying to keep abled kids from taking them all to skip lines.

Evan shook his head. I hate abled people.

We're the worst.

I shouldn't be renting out wheelchairs anyway, I said finally. They're for people who can't walk. I can walk.

Brian looked at me like I was an idiot. No, anyone who literally can't walk wouldn't need to rent a wheelchair, they'd have come with their own. It's for people who can't walk around Disney World. Which you can't.

Maybe I could, I said. For some reason.

You get out of breath going to the mailbox, Sunshine, but sure, let's see you conquer the Magic Kingdom.

Everyone would judge me, I said. They'd see me stand up to get on a fucking ride or whatever and think I'm one of those abled people faking.

So they get a free lecture on invisible disabilities, Brian said. Lucky them.

I'm not a fucking skeleton in science class, I said. I'm not a learning tool.

You can't let being worried about other people stop you from getting what you need, Evan said. You know that.

I felt my heartbeat throb in my head. Nobody's staring at you, I said. What the fuck do you know about it?

Don't fucking yell at him, Brian said, but Evan can take care of himself.

I don't know what's bothering you, but it's not me, Evan said. Take the attitude somewhere else.

I pushed my chair back from the table and planted my hands on my knees and tried to slow my breathing down. Brian finished his whiskey glass and set it down.

Would you excuse us for a moment? he said to Evan.

Evan gestured like by all means, get my asshole boyfriend away from me, and Brian took me by the wrist and removed me from the kitchen. He brought me into our room and closed the door.

Okay, he said. What the fuck is going on with you?

I started passive-aggressively stripping the bed, since apparently I was a prisoner in here and our sheets were due to be changed anyway. Brian half-heartedly helped me.

Why don't you want to go to Disney World? he said after a minute.

“I never said I didn't want to go.”

I'm sorry, I've known you how long?

I glared at him, and he glared right back.

I dropped the sheet. Fine. I don't want to go.

Yes, if you recall I said that part already. I'm asking why.

I raked my hand through my hair. We made Daphne and Derek postpone their wedding, I said. That was supposed to be next month.

I know that.

We made them move it because I wouldn't be well in time, and now I'm going off to Disney World? How is that fair to them?

They've already moved it. Can't unring the bell. I'm pretty sure their annoyance is paled in comparison to how happy they are that you're doing better than we expected. That's actually a good thing.

“I'm not doing better!” I said. “Why do you just get to decide what I'm ready for?”

All right, as much as I love being accused of baseless shit, I didn't break into your doctor's office and rig your blood tests, Sunshine.

“It's barely normal! I could still get sick. It's still so fucking risky, and for what? So I can be miserable and anxious and scared the whole time if we go?”

He watched me steadily. I think you're scared already.

That pissed me off, him standing there all smug like he'd cracked some fucking code. “Yeah, okay? Fine, I'm fucking scared. I'm scared all the time. You proud of yourself that you figured that one out?”

Well, you could have fucking told me.

“So what, so you could tell me that I should be over it by now?”

What the fuck are you talking about?

“Everyone's fine!” I said. “Everyone's celebrating the fucking blood test results, which is the fucking reasonable thing to do, and I'm the mess who can't be happy because he's, I don't know, crazy or paranoid or just used to being sick at this point and in love with the attention. But I can't...”

Brian was still staring at me like I was speaking some other language. How the fuck are you supposed to be over this? he asked. You almost died, your entire fucking life has changed, you feel terrible literally all the time. Who the fuck would be over that in five months?

Then why did you think I was!

I don't know, you're you. You're...weird.

I'm weird.

He groaned. I have to spell this out? You've been through a lot more than your average person and you... you pull through, okay? You're frighteningly tough.

That's very sweet and all, but it doesn't really hold up when everyone else is fine I'm the only one still a fucking mess.

He ran his hand over his mouth and looked away, and oh. I guess Brian wasn't going to be the only one to have that little revelation today.

“Jesus, you are?” I said.

He looked at me.

Why didn't you tell me? I said.

I can't tell you! he said. I can never fucking tell you because you feel guilty and terrible and beat yourself up about it and make a big deal out of poor Brian has to watch you be sick!

“Tell me anyway,” I said.

Jesus, what do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you I don't sleep? That I can fucking...God, that I can hear the scarring every single time you breathe? That every time I hear you fall or something break and every time you can't stop coughing or you tell me I can't breathe my mind goes...God! There is a whole fucking world out there trying to kill my partner and I can't tell you fucking anything about it because you feel guilty. You hate yourself.

I tried to catch my breath. “I didn't...I didn't know it was that bad.”

Yeah, well, same to you. You're the one always skipping off to your studio and shit when I'm fucking losing my mind trying to get you to take a fucking nap.

I'm not scared of just...pushing myself too far, I said. I'm just scared of catching something new.

You don't need to catch anything new! he exploded. Jesus, look at you, you're already—

He stopped and shook his head and looked away, and I felt everything kind of...I don't know, shift. Like the room moved.

“Brian, I'm not going to die,” I said.

He nodded, but he still didn't look at me.

“I'm not,” I insisted.

He flicked his eyes back to me and nodded again, bigger this time. Okay.

I sat down on the bed. “You're right,” I said. “I don't know how to not feel fucking awful about the fact that you worry about me. And I can't make you stop. I can't fix it.”

He rolled his eyes and sat down across from me. You can't fix it because it's not a problem. Me being worried about you is not a fucking malfunction. You're sick. I'm supposed to worry. We're not the only fucking people in the world doing this, Justin. Sick people have partners. We didn't invent this. We're doing what we're supposed to do.

I shook my head. Most people don't have someone they worry about this much.

He watched me, not blinking. Say it again.

Most people don't... I nodded. “Okay.”

Being scared means you are still here with me, he said. It's a feature, not a bug.

I squirmed my way in next to him and under his arm, and he sighed and pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. We stayed like that for a little while.

“I don't know how to explain it,” I said finally. “I'm not scared of anything inside of me. I'm just scared of out there.”

Probably because you're used to your body trying to fucking kill you, and the outside stuff is a lot newer, he said. And probably also because you have PTSD and you're afraid of crowds already.

God! I groaned. Why do I never fucking figure out when it's a PTSD thing?

I have no idea. It's truly remarkable.

I flopped down on my back on the half-unmade bed. “Why do you want me to go?” I said. “Why do you care?”

He shrugged. I don't know. This is my job. I'm in the fucking business of accessibility here. I can't exactly let your world get smaller just because you're getting sicker. That's not the story.

It's weird that that was what really helped me, but it was. Just the casual way he said I was getting sicker, the fact that he saw it when I thought that he didn't...I don't think that's something you can understand, if you're not sick, but sometimes all you fucking need is someone to tell you that it's all real. Someone noticing before you have to tell them is...it doesn't get old.

The test said I'm better and I still feel terrible, I said, because hey, now I could say it too. Now I had permission.

The tests say your immune system is better, he said. You're still epileptic as shit and your lungs are like coral reefs.

“Yuck.”

He shrugged.

I think it scared me that people would expect me to be well now, I said. That they were getting bored of this and now, look, finally, we get to move on.

No, you're a fucking disaster still.

“Okay good.”

He took a minute, chewing on the inside of his mouth, then said, I didn't want to get all sappy about it in front of your boyfriend and make him think I like you or something, but...you know I'm so proud of you, right?

I squirmed. “Ew. For what?”

Those test results you hate.

“No, be proud of me for shit I actually do. All I did was show up and get my blood taken. My immune system got better on its own, it just happened.”

That is exactly my point, he said. You sat back. You were patient. You hung in there and you took care of yourself and you let something happen to you. He watched me. And I know that was really fucking scary for you.

I sighed and coughed a little.

But good things can happen to you too, Raincloud, he said. Let them.

I leaned forwards and kissed him, so softly.

“Okay,” I said. “You can push me.”