At Home in the World

LaVieEnRose

Our first normal night at home, I had a dream completely in sign language.

It'd taken a little while to get him home; we'd flown out to LA right after Christmas to take care of a few loose ends with his project and get his shit packed up. We had a surprisingly romantic New Year's Eve just the two of us in the living room of his rented mansion surrounded by his boxes, sipping champagne and watching the ball drop three hours early in the city we were about to rejoin.

Justin, to his credit, didn't whine about leaving this place he loved to go back to a life he still felt ambivalent about, even though the transition sucked for him as much as it really could. He had a bad flight and a seizure on the way, and then Marie was less then thrilled about him quitting after she'd kept his position open for him during the fall and made him feel really shitty about it, which I tried not to hold against Derek but maybe I spent a few days glaring at him anyway, and then the change from sixty-five degrees in LA to negative three in New York basically punched his shitty immune system in the face and we ended up with bronchitis, a quick hospital stay, and a week coughing in his sleep on the couch at Kinnetik. So after all of that was sorted out, after I could figuratively breathe because he was back, he was here, he was in the apartment, he was here, and he could literally breathe because there wasn't, y'know, shit clogging up his lungs, that's when I had that dream in sign language.

Is that noteworthy? Justin asked me, sitting on the bed while I got dressed for work.

Yeah, I've never had one before.

Seriously? Actually true biz, ASL idiom.

Yeah, I mean, sometimes you'll be signing in them, or if Derek or Emily's there. But in this it was everyone. Michael was there, he was signing. And just, y'know, those fake dream people. All signing.

He stretched. “It's funny it took this long. Daph started ages ago.”

How about you? Do you dream with sound?

He thought about it. “No, I don't think so. Sometimes people are speaking and I know what they're saying, but I don't like...hear it, even in my dream. I don't think my brain remembers what hearing is.”

What are you doing today? I asked.

Touring studio spaces! He couldn't exactly use Marie's anymore. Maybe I can find somewhere that's not a fucking basement.

I was so fucking happy he'd quit that job, I can't even describe. Yeah, it had been decent money, but he was making a fair amount doing commissions, and he wasn't happy with all the menial administrative shit he had to do and...honestly, he's a creative type with an unpredictable chronic illness. The 9-5 life was not for him. He was doing a ton of volunteer work with the DeafBlind institute and helping out with a few projects at Kinnetik, so he still had reasons to get out of the house, which I think he was worried about.

I said, Hey, do you think this means I'm bilingual now?

“You're already bilingual.”

I think you're only bilingual if you think in the second language. You can't be translating in your head.

You don't think in ASL?

I shook my head and knotted my tie.

“Not ever?”

No. I think in English and just...sign it.

That's probably why your grammar's such garbage.

Hey, fuck off.

“It's probably my fault,” he said. “I'm always talking to you in English. Dragging you out of it.”

Yeah, why do you do that, anyway?

“I don't know. Habit.” He got up and put me into my suit jacket, running his hands up my chest. “Sometimes my hands are busy.”

“Mmm, yeah.” I fit my hands around his waist while he watched my lips. “Mine too.”

“And it just seems nicer to you,” he said. “You do so much to me. You learned this whole language for me. Least I can do is speak yours.”

I squeezed his waist and let him go. It's weird, isn't it? That we have different...primary languages.

He smiled a little. “This is just occurring to you?”

I don't know. We both speak both.

“I don't think in English,” he said, with a kiss.

He was right, of course. And none of this was news, really. And I probably shouldn't have let it get to me the way it did, but I don't think I even realized it had at the time.

**

So it just so happened that that day we had a new client come in, and it turned out I didn't hate his guts.

His name was Travis Loudner, just moved to the city, originally from Philadelphia. He was around my age but looked a few years older, with some gray above his ears, but it worked for him—kind of a Ben Bruckner sexy professor vibe. He'd been investing in companies since his twenties, made a good load of money, and finally he was striking out with his own project: something something longer lasting car batteries. Boring shit, but the kind of boring shit that rakes in cash, if you market it correctly. Enter Kinney.

He had good ideas without trying to run the project, was social without drawing us off track, smart but not a know-it-all...look, I liked the guy, and it had been a while since I liked anyone, particularly given the parade of morons I usually have to deal with on the job.

So I was in a good mood when I got home, and it helped when I walked in to Justin sitting cross-legged in one of the kitchen chairs—why he can't sit correctly in a chair, ever, continues to be a mystery to me—with a glass of wine and a bunch of papers spread out in front of him, and something incredible-smelling simmering on the stove. Sometimes this marriage shit is not the worst. I drummed on his shoulders and kissed him deeply when he lifted his head up.

How'd it go today? I asked him.

Okay, I guess. The broker was really thrown by the Deaf thing, so that was annoying, but I liked some of the places she showed me. He kept signing but said out loud, “Brian, Jesus Christ, don't stick your fingers in that, it's hot.”

It's good.

“Vindaloo.”

I know what it is, I was eating curry before you were goddamn born.

“Oh, Joan was making curry for dinner?”

Maybe not. You didn't have an interpreter with you?

What did I need an interpreter for? It's looking around spaces and reading spec sheets. I can do that perfectly well without a hearing person holding my hand.

And you found some you liked, despite the broker?

Yeah, you want to see?

That depends. I pulled out a chair. Can I hold your hand?

He chuckled and slipped his fingers between mine. “Someone's in a good mood.”

Yeah, I had a good day. I picked up his spec sheets and set one aside immediately. “No.”

“What?”

No.

He rolled his eyes. “I can lipread 'no.' I'm asking why.”

It's Washington Heights, you're not working up there.

“You are such a snob.”

You can't hear the gunshots, Sunshine.

“Neither can you, since you've never been up of 85th street.”

Say it again.

He kissed my cheek. “Street street street.”

I picked up the next sheet. Now this one...

That's my favorite. Look at the skylight.

East Village, see, that's more like it

He gave me a look. And the management seems competent, the building is well-kept, and the light is amazing.

And it's close to the bar!

You're impossible, he said, and I got up and served us plates of curry. I flirted with him all through dinner because it was making him blush like a damn schoolboy and God, you sign five sweet words to Justin and it gets him more hot and bothered than a whole string of dirty talk. He was all the fuck over me before dinner was even finished, and I hauled him off to the bedroom and fucked him until he screamed.

He pawed at me when I tried to get up after. “Hug me really tight,” he said quietly.

So I did, but only for a minute. I want to go out. You want to come?

“Depends. Bar or Nova?”

Friends or strangers? Hearing or Deaf?

I smacked his ass. Nova. I want to dance.

He shook his head. “You want a blowjob.”

Can you blame me?

It's not my fault you fucked me too fast to give you one.

It's not my fault you're so hot I had to fuck you right away, I said, and he rolled his eyes but smiled. I'll be back in a while.

“Love you. Bring me back a present.” He says that sometimes, no matter where the fuck I'm going. I could tell him I was going to the proctologist and he'd ask me for a party favor.

Maybe not the best example.

Anyway, I kissed him and traipsed over to Nova and got a blow job and that was fine. I had a drink and danced for a bit and headed back to the bar for drink two, and then I heard someone say, “Kinney?” over the music, and who the fuck was it but Travis Loudner.

“Well, how about that?” I said.

He shook my hand with a smile. “I knew you were gay.”

“Yeah, I knew you were gay too.”

He looked around. “This your scene?”

I shrugged, because hell if that wasn't a multilayered question at this point. “Is it yours?”

He grinned kind of ruefully. “Not really. But, you know, new in town, newly single, figured I should get my lay of the land.”

“Newly single, huh?”

“After fifteen years.”

“Jesus.”

“And don't worry,” he said. “I'm not hitting on you. I see the ring.”

What's funny is he didn't seem like he was hitting on me. And because there's no reason for you to have to sit around wondering if another shoe's going to drop: I never slept with Travis. That's not where this story is going.

“Want to get out of here and get a drink somewhere?” I said. “Not a euphemism.”

He considered it. “Yeah, sure.”

I hadn't made a friend on my own since I was fucking fourteen.

**

“It was the kids thing,” Travis explained, while we sipped beers and watched the Knicks game at some borderline-gay borderline-sports bar a block form the club. “He wanted them, I didn't, and we both eventually got tired of pretending we still believed the other one might change his mind. He's already with some new guy. They'll probably have a kid shipped in from overseas by the summer. You have kids?”

“I have a boy, but not...I don't raise him. He's back in Pittsburgh.”

“Oof, Pittsburgh.”

“You got that right.”

“So no kids for you and your partner?”

“He says no, but...who knows what he's going to want down the line. I like kids, but I like handing them back to their moms.” I watched the ref signal an offensive foul. “Bad call.”

“Tell me about it. What does he do, your partner?”

“He's an artist. Paintings, mostly.”

“Oh yeah? He good?”

“He's very good.”

He took out his phone. “He have a website? What's his name?”

“Yeah, Justin Taylor. T-a-y-l-o-r.” I looked over at his phone. “And he's older than he looks, I swear.”

“Yeah, he'd just about have to be.” He scrolled through the image results. “Yeah, these are really great. I mean, fuck all I know about art, but.”

“He's been pretty successful the past few years,” I said. “It's fun to watch. And he does a lot of volunteer work because he's like a good person and shit.”

He laughed. “What's he like?”

I shrugged. “He's all right.”

“Nah, come on.”

“All right, he's a nightmare. He's stubborn as hell and manipulative as shit, and he's a fucking genius so he knows how to do it and he's got that face so he gets away with it. He's impossible.” I grinned into my drink. “He's amazing.”

He smiled. “You sound happy.”

Eh, what the hell. “Yeah, I'm very happy.”

“So why are you out without him?”

“Eh, cuffed but not dead. We get our own lives. And he doesn't really like this kind of scene anymore.”

“Not the slutty type?”

“No, he's slutty as fuck. He just doesn't hang out with hearing people.”

His brow furrowed. “With what?”

I laughed. “Oh, fuck, he's Deaf. I forgot to mention.” I was more used to having to tell people I was hearing than tell people Justin was Deaf.

“He's Deaf? So you, what, know sign language?”

“I do.”

“That's very cool. I wish I knew another language. I studied Russian literature in college but fuck if I could speak any of it now.”

I signaled the bartender for another beer. “Well, you should learn sign language, then. Otherwise you're never gonna meet my partner.”

“What, he doesn't talk to...what'd you call us?”

He didn't even know the word. “This is wild. Hearing people. And no, not for fun, anyway. All our friend are Deaf, or they sign.”

“Even yours?” he said casually, looking up at the TV.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so.”

“What happened to the separate lives?”

“Huh,” I said.

**

I hung out with Travis three times in the following weeks. We got dinner once, and I played wingman and got him laid at a gay bar too tacky to go to regularly, but good for this sort of thing. We went to a Knicks game.

Justin was confused.

So what is he, your boyfriend? he asked one Saturday, while we were grocery shopping.

What? No, he's not my boyfriend, Christ. He's a friend.

Well...are you sleeping with him?

No, I don't sleep with my friends.

He read the back of a bag of potato chips. Shopping with Justin takes decades. You sleep with all your friends.

I snatched the bag away and put it back. No fucking chips in the apartment. No, dear, that's you.

Justin thought about this, then widened his eyes. Oh, God, that is me.

I know.

I get us mixed up.

Well, you get most things mixed up.

He craned his neck over the crowd. How's the line up there?

Long, not that it fucking matters since there are five things in this cart. Can you fucking pick a cereal and let's get on with it?

He glared at me, but he did.

He's coming over for the game tonight, I said.

Ooh, sports. Justin rolled his eyes. I'll go to Daphne's.

You don't have to scamper off. He wants to meet you. And it's just basketball, nothing...you know. Violent.

Justin made a face. Why?

Why isn't basketball violent? Take it up with James Naismith.

Inventor of basketball, I'm guessing?

I kissed him. Good boy.

He swatted me off. Why does he want to meet me?

I don't know, he's under the impression you might be interesting.

That's a shame.

Don't I know it.

Justin rolled the cart back and forth. Well...does he sign?

That'd be a pretty big coincidence.

Yeah, I know.

I scratched up and down his back. I'll interpret.

I know. But I don't want to...you know. Make him uncomfortable.

He's not uncomfortable.

Most hearing people are.

I rolled my eyes and tossed a box of rice into the cart. He's a nice guy, he wants to meet you. Quit overthinking it. Plenty of hearing people like you.

Who, you?

Gross, I don't like you.

See, so that's even one fewer than I thought, he pouted.

I picked him up with a squeeze and set him back down. Can we get the fuck out of here, please?

Yeah. You know your boyfriend's going to expect you to have chips in the house.

Good thing I don't answer to my boyfriends, I said, nudging him towards the check-out line.

**

Justin was doing his pacing thing before Travis got there, the one he only does when he's nervous or when he's had one of those seizures that makes him not know where the fuck he is. I was banking on the first one.

You deal with hearing people all the time, I told him. You just did the broker.

“I didn't care if the broker liked me,” he said.

You are so neurotic.

No, that's you.

No, that's both of us. There was a knock on the door, and I nodded towards it. He's here.

He didn't ring the bell.

How's he supposed to know it lights up?

You could have told him...

I don't run through a list of your Deaf toys every time I meet someone, I said, and I kissed him on the way to the door.

“Fine. None of my Deaf toys for you tonight then.”

I glared at him and opened the door. Travis shook my hand, shifting the six pack under his arm. “You hear the Hawks small forward broke his ankle?” he said.

“Shit, we might have a chance after all.”

“Nice place you got here,” he said, coming in and setting the beer on the counter. “You own or rent?”

“Own, Jesus, I'm not throwing money away.” I glanced at Justin. Just talking real estate.

Great.

I cleared my throat. “This is Justin.” I showed him Justin's sign name. May I present Travis.

“Very nice to meet you finally,” Travis said to Justin.

Nice to meet you.

“I was just, uh, telling Brian this is quite a place you have here.”

Justin looked at me. I got “Brian.”

Not bad, I said, because by Justin's usual lipreading standards, picking out anything from a stranger was noteworthy. He likes the apartment. You want a beer?

He shook his head.

Travis said to me, “Y'know, I'm not sure I really believed that you knew sign language until this minute. Though you could still be faking it for all I know.”

I rolled my eyes and interpreted for Justin.

It's true, you really don't seem smart enough, Justin said.

Cute. That's cute.

Justin came into the kitchen and produced chips from somewhere, the bastard, and he poured them into a bowl and arranged a bunch of different dips, and we settled in and watched the game. I made an effort to interpret for Justin, but he had a sketchpad out because he doesn't care about basketball so he was half-focused on that, and most of the conversation was about the basketball game which again, he didn't care about, and also didn't know all the signs for, because it's a lot of technical words and why the fuck would I know the signs for technical words Justin doesn't care about? So he was getting bits and pieces of the conversation, so it would have made sense for him to be kind of annoyed, but he wasn't acting annoyed. He was acting altogether like himself, except the 'himself' he was acting like was the one who still disappears somewhere inside his head when he's in crowds. He was faking his way through pretty adequately, but, well, I know him. He gets this calculating look behind his eyes, like he's trying to figure something out.

What is with you? I asked him at one point.

Nothing.

You don't like him?

He seems fine.

Are you feeling bad, what?

He glanced at Travis. Cut it out.

He doesn't know what we're saying.

He knows we're saying something.

“See, you see that guy?” Travis said.

“Yeah, what about him?”

“He was a recruit right out of high school but he ended up being a benchwarmer because they got that hotshot point guard from Duke, but then the Duke kid's had a habit of getting into foul trouble in the second halves so he's been getting some court time after all.”

Justin looked at me, and I just...froze. There was a lot of words in there.

Just basketball stuff? Justin said after a minute.

Yeah.

He set his sketchpad aside. I'm going to go to Emily's, I think.

Yeah. Okay.

**

Travis left around ten, and I texted Justin, half-expecting him to passive-aggressively stay at Emily's overnight, but he was home about an hour later. He took off his coat and scarf and spent an annoyingly long time hanging them up.

How's Emily? I said.

She's fine. Gwen's all settled in.

I still think it's too early for them to be living together.

He shrugged. They've been together almost a year. We'd been together like negative two months the first time we lived together.

Not sure we're a shining example in that regard.

Yeah, maybe not.

I leaned my head against the wall. Are you mad at me or what? I don't like this suspense.

He sighed. No. I don't know. Not mad.

Then what?

He shrugged. I'm sad, I guess. I'm uncomfortable. I didn't like that.

I don't get it. You deal with hearing people all the time.

“Yeah, because I don't have any choice. They run the fucking world.” He went into the kitchen and got a bottle of water. “This was different. That's out there, this was...here. In my space.”

In your space.

“I don't like people talking in front of me, but I have to deal with it all the time out there, and I...deal with it. I don't want to have to deal with it here. I don't like other people getting to hear your voice and not me, and I don't like people saying God knows what in front of me. In my house.”

It's my house too.

I know that.

So I'm not allowed to have hearing people over? To my fucking house?

He sighed. I didn't say that. I said it makes me sad.

So what, I'm just supposed to do stuff that makes you sad?

“Yeah, I guess.”

I opened another beer. This is a test.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it's not a test.”

It's a test.

“Why do you always think I'm testing you when I don't fucking test you? I don't do that, Brian.”

Don't.

He glared at me. “Where's that fucking shirt you were going to make that says 'Brian, this is not about you?'”

It is fucking about me! You're upset because of something I did.

That doesn't mean you did something wrong. Sometimes I'm sad. Sometimes my life is fucking goddamn sad.

I don't know why, but that...that fucking pissed me off. Your life is sad. Your life is sad. I don't sit through twenty billion fucking lectures on ableism and the Deaf community for you to get to tell me your life is sad when it's convenient for you.

He crossed his arms.

I'm not fucking allowed to have friends, but your life is sad.

“God, you are such a fucking drama queen.”

I live my fucking life around you! I yelled at him. Do you not fucking get that? All my goddamn fucking friends are Deaf, Justin! All we fucking do is Deaf stuff! I'm not Deaf! You fucking talk to me in English just to make sure I don't forget that I don't really fit in!

That's not why and you know it. I do it to fucking be nice—

Yeah, to coddle the fucking hearing guy, I get it. You want to be nice to me? Let me fucking use my first language in my house with someone for one night without throwing a fucking hissy fit!

This is it, he said. This is why mixed marriages fail.

No, you know what? This is why marriages fail, Sunshine, because people won't fucking compromise. You want a hundred percent Deaf life and you want to make sure I know that I'm no more but an honorary fucking member, but God forbid I be a fucking hearing person, I have to just be a fucking second-rate Deaf imitation—

“I compromise every fucking day!” he yelled at me. “What the fuck do you know about it?”

Not with me! I said. You compromise out the fuck there, you don't compromise with me!

You're supposed to be safe!

Safe? What the fuck are you talking about?

“You are so fucking stupid,” he growled, on his way past me to the bedroom.

“And hearing!” I simcommed as I followed him. “Don't forget, I'm fucking fucking fucking fucking hearing!”

He stopped and sighed and ran his hands down his face, and God, he looked so fucking exhausted, and all of a sudden I was too.

Come here, I said.

He looked at me. “What?”

Just...come here, I said, and he did, and I put my arms around him and kissed the crown of his head. He gave this little frustrated sigh and rubbed his palm up and down the small of my back. I let him go and and smacked his cheek. I love you.

“The fuck is with you tonight,” he said.

You're really frustrating and it makes me crazy.

“Yeah.”

I sat down on the bed. I don't know what the fuck to do about this. Deafening me continues to seem like the solution.

He smiled ruefully. “You don't have to do anything.”

I get to have hearing friends. I'm allowed.

“Yeah, well, I'm allowed to be sad without you punishing me for it.”

Yeah, that's fair. I took him by the wrists and pulled him into me. You're sad, huh.

“Yeah.”

How bad is it?

“Bad,” he whispered.

I tugged him down and kissed him. “Better?”

He watched my lips and shook his head, and I sighed, brought him to my lap, and held him there for a long time, not fucking understanding anything.

**

I dove into work the next day, signing everything I could get my hands on, barking at the art department, micromanaging accounting. I was full of the kind of frustrated energy you can only fix with money, sex, and cigarettes, and I'm trying to cut back on one and it was a bit too ten AM for another, so here we were.

Emily was in my office taking notes on an office memo I needed her to draft for...listen, it's boring, you don't care. I barely cared, and it's my fucking company. Anyway, she was about to leave when I stopped her and said, Can I ask you something?

Sure, that's why you pay me the big bucks.

You've never dated a hearing person, right?

She shook her head.

Would you ever?

Ew, no.

Even if they signed.

She shook her head. Sorry.

Why is that?

She sat down on my couch. I don't know. My whole family's Deaf. My life is Deaf, my culture's Deaf. Everything I need is here, so why waste time with someone who's never going to fully understand it? No offense.

So do you hate dealing with hearing people all day here?

No, I don't hate it, it's just...it's work. I can never just be myself, I always have to be...on. I don't want to bring that into a relationship.

I leaned back in my chair. What did Justin tell you last night?

Nothing, he wouldn't talk. He seemed kind of freaked out.

Jesus, freaked out? I realize he's a PTSD mess but...I brought a friend home. We watched a basketball game. I didn't even make him socialize, he sat there and drew.

What, a hearing friend?

Yeah.

Emily made a face. Since when do you have hearing friends?

So I met someone who doesn't sign. That's a crime?

Why is everything always up to eleven immediately with you? Everything's a crime or not a crime.

Well, that's just how the law works, Emily.

She waved her hand dismissively. Law.

I changed my entire life when he lost his hearing, I said. I learned a new language, I moved, I made new friends...and I love it, but can you fucking...can he fucking appreciate that it's tiring having to use my second language all of the time?

It's his second language too.

Not really, not anymore. I'm not comfortable in it the way he is. I probably won't ever be. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Well, you could try not bringing up the stuff you've done so he could live a normal life as some kind of trump card to win points in an argument.

I gave her a look. I don't.

She sighed and flopped back on the couch. Look, what the fuck do I know about mixed relationships. Ask Derek or something. Ask Daphne, if it's so relaxing to talk to a hearing person.

You just said you want your relationship to be somewhere you can relax, I said. Why is that fair for you and not me?

Why is it fair that the world is run by people like you and not people like me? she said.

I said, Okay, but...that's not my fault.

She groaned. It's not about fault! Crime and not crime, I'm telling you....people can just tell you that things fucking suck without blaming you for them.

I took a deep breath. I realize there are a lot of things you're left out of, every single fucking day. And I'm not saying that that's fair.

It's not about feeling left out, she said. I mean, it is, but it's also... She stood up and wandered over to my desk, thinking. It's scary, to be around people who know that you can't hear what they say. Who know that they can say anything in front of you and you won't know what it is. It's scary. This isn't about us having our feelings hurt.

I watched her.

Every Deaf girl I know has a story about... She shook her head. And maybe it's different from Justin because he grew up hearing or because he's a guy, I don't know. But I'm not going to feel safe when two hearing people are talking in front of me. Two hearing men. I'm not.

But it happens all the time, I said.

Yeah, but does that mean I have to have it in my house? Your house?

His house, you mean.

She shrugged. Look, you're not out there trying to ban Tylenol from the world, but you don't keep it in the apartment.

That's different. He's stupid, he'd eat it by accident.

It's bad out there, she said. It's bad out there for everyone but it's worse for us.

And I thought about what she was saying, and then my fucking slow as fuck brain thought about what happened to Justin years ago at that goddamn party, back when he was hearing, back when people were talking in front of him and he didn't understand what was going on.

You're supposed to be safe, he'd said.

I shook my head. It's not different for him.

Yeah, I didn't really think it was.

Thanks, Emily. I stood up and kissed her cheek. Don't ever date a hearing person.

No worries there.

**

Justin had therapy that afternoon and always liked to go to his studio for a few hours afterwards, so I didn't see him until that evening. “Hey,” he said. “I brought Japanese.” He stared at me. “What are you doing?”

Replacing our bedroom door.

“I...can see that. Have you forgotten what happened last time you attempted home renovations?”

Um...yes.

He pointed to his head.

Ah, right. Well, keep a safe distance, then, but I'm almost done.

He came over and did not keep a safe distance. Incorrigible. What was wrong with our old door?

This one's supposed to be more soundproof, he said. According to the guy at the store, I don't know. Could have been bullshitting me.

Soundproof?

I finished screwing in the door and stepped back and looked at it. Good.

“Brian...”

I turned to him. I think our room should be a sanctuary.

A sanctuary.

Yeah.

What the fuck are you talking about?

I don't think anyone should speak in our room, ever, I said. Including you.

He tilted his head, watching me.

It's...you know. It's a sanctuary. If anyone speaks in it we, I don't know. Have a séance. Exorcise it.

So...no one who doesn't sign in our room, he said.

Yeah. I mean, when's the last time someone was, anyway.

And you don't speak in there. And I don't speak in there.

I shook my head.

He came over to me and played with my shirt, then looked up at me, his eyes big and blue.

I said, You deserve a place where you understand absolutely everything that's going on. And I think it should be here. And I think it should be with me.

You just want free license to fill the living room with hearing people.

Yeah, you caught me.

He looked at the door, leaning into my shoulder.

The world's bad enough, I said. Sex and sleep, they...they should be different.

Can I still laugh?

Yeah.

Can I still scream?

I guess we should find out.

**

He could, we decided, and afterwards we lay next to each other. That door was more soundproof, I think. I couldn't hear the hum of the fridge or the elevator moving between floors. Just silence. And his breathing.

Hug me really tight, he said.

So I did.