Chapter XIII: Sheltered Hearts

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"She wasn't exactly sure when it happened. Or even when it started. All she knew for sure was that right here and now, she was falling hard and she could only pray that he was feeling the same way."

― Nicholas Sparks, Safe Haven.

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Dex woke up with Timmy lying on top of him. It took him a moment to realize, sated with sleep and warm from Timmy's body, but eventually the realization trickled in, the fact that for the first time in years he was waking up with someone in his arms.

Timmy's face was buried in his neck, his arm and leg slung out over Dex and tying them together. Dex could feel the press of Timmy's nose against his skin, the flutter of his breath, slow and steady as he slept, the weight of him pushing against Dex's chest, the cool tips of his fingers sliding down his sides as he stirred and then settled. Dex could feel the soft velvet of Timmy's skin against his, so warm and overwhelming, and he couldn't believe that this was actually happening, so sudden, right when everything got so confusing. Timmy was so soft, so quiet and unaware, and completely vulnerable in a way that was both incredibly sexy and overwhelmingly terrifying. Dex almost doesn't dare to breath.

Suddenly, the little glass bird was whole in his hands, a breakable thing, and he didn't know what to do next, besides hold tight and feel Timmy against him while he could, because the breakable things didn't last very long.

Timmy stirred again, mumbling to himself and nuzzling his face deeper into Dex's neck. His arm tightened around Dex's stomach and pulled them tighter together, and Dex couldn't even be sure where he ended and Timmy began, all wrapped up and tangled.

For now, this was what he got. For now, this was perfect.

He was not sure how long he laid there, hands stroking up and down Timmy's back, and breathing in the heady scent of his skin. Timmy was his cover, molded to Dex's body as he slept on, completely unaware. Heat radiated from his bare skin, and Dex thought that he could just feel Timmy's heartbeat faint against his chest, more intimate and precious than any sex he'd had in his life.

There was a sudden beeping from his night side table, and Dex flung one hand out to turn off his phone before it could wake Timmy.

The alarm bought him back down, reminded him of the time, reminded him that the rest of the world had continued on. Reality existed, ugly as it was. Small trivial things still controlled his life. He couldn't just stay here in bed all day, holding Timmy to him and whispering small devotions into his ear until he woke up, no matter how much he wanted to.

He couldn't miss work.

And more than that. It wouldn't be fair to Timmy.

He doubted Timmy remembered clearly what happened last night, and Dex had a feeling that if Timmy woke up in a strange bed with a half-naked man, Dex might lose a ball or two before Timmy realized who it was.

And even through his haze of skin and warmth and touch, Dex was able to admit that this wasn't fair to him either.

He and Timmy had shared a hug. Now, they laid here together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The two realities attempted to overlap, entwine, but crash together and shatter instead. They didn't belong together, they couldn't fit.

If this was to happen, if this was truly to happen, then Dex needed to know. He might not be completely sure what it was he needed to know, but the gaps of his understanding were too great to be able to gloss over with a mere three words, no matter how pretty those words might be.

And now he realized that he did the same thing to Timmy, practically ten months ago, when he told Timmy he loved him; it was a stupid and reckless mistake that suddenly threw everything Timmy knew out of balance, throwing ideas of 'love' into his life when living was all he had the strength to focus on. He understood now, at least, why Timmy had ran out on him.

He rolled out from under Timmy, let him fall into the pillows with a sigh. He tucked the blankets up around Timmy's shoulders, allowed his fingers to linger on his shoulder, one last touch, before he headed into the bathroom to get ready.

Timmy was still sleeping when he walked out the door, soft and warm and breakable.

Everything was breakable.

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Timmy called him around ten, the generic ringtone of his cellphone startling Dex from the steady, reassurance of the numbers. "Dex?"

"Is everything okay?" Dex swiveled in his seat to face away from the computer.

"Um...yeah, how...why am I in your bed?" Timmy asked timidly, as if he was afraid of the answer. "Did...did we do...anything?"

Dex hurt first, in that instant, because Timmy didn't trust him. But then he realized that he was not necessarily the one Timmy couldn't trust.

Because Timmy loved him, and he never meant to.

Because Timmy couldn't trust himself, and he cut himself off, worked hard so no one else would trust him either, because he couldn't disappoint himself, not any more.

Because there was no one who would ever hate Timmy more than he hated himself.

"No, nothing happened," he told Timmy quickly. "You were really sick, so I let you sleep in my bed." He paused a second before adding, "I slept on the couch."

It was just easier this way, if Timmy didn't have to know. That way, Dex had a chance to figure out what he wanted first, so he could be sure and stable when Timmy needed him to be.

"Oh." Timmy's voice was very soft-just like his skin, Dex thought-when he answered, but hard, sharp. Suspicious. "Okay then. Well, I have to go the hospital soon so...I'll see you when you get home." And he hung up. Dex wasn't sure if Timmy believed him. In fact, he was almost positive he didn't.

Dex set the phone down and buried his head in his hands, tangling his fingers in his hair and blinking hard.

He was starting to understand now. Get into Timmy's head in ways the boy never wanted him to, but now he had held Timmy vulnerable against him, stripped of all walls.

He understood just how much Timmy hid now. And just how good he was at it.

He wondered how often you could lie to the world before you started to believe your own lies.

Timmy was used to people abandoning him. He had built his life around it. He could handle it, move past it, survive, because Timmy was good at surviving. But people came with breaking points, Dex knew. How many people could Timmy lose, before he fought back, pushed those people away, so when they left him, it didn't hurt as much?

He had lost so much.

And he had clung so tight to Dex while he slept.

If Timmy loved him, truly loved him, it was not because it had taken him this long to realize it, Dex knew. It was because Timmy hadn't dare put it to words. Because once something was put into words, that made it real, and it made it something Dex could take away.

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Timmy was curled up on the couch when Dex got home that night. He didn't lift his head from the pillows, but Dex knew that was because Timmy was always exhausted after radiation. Dex leaned over the back of the couch and waved the bag of Chinese take-out in his face. "Ready for dinner?"

"Eh," Timmy answered, raising his head for a second to raise an eyebrow at Dex before curling tighter around himself. "Do I have to move?"

"Well, I'm not going to feed you."

"You suck."

'For making me fall in love with you'. Dex forced back the words and plastered on a smile as he shrugged. "Sorry."

Timmy groaned and pushed himself upright. He took the pillow with him, tucking his knees up to his chest and placing the pillow on his legs so he could bury his face there once more. Dex frowned, moving around the couch and sitting down beside him. "Are you alright?"

"I feel really sick," Timmy admitted. Dex's frown deepened as he reached out a hand and tilted Timmy onto his shoulder. Timmy turned his face into Dex's arm and moaned pitifully. "Feel sorry for me."

"I do." Dex rubbed a hand over Timmy's head, careful to avoid that one spot where his hair had been clipped away from the scar. "Do you want me to make you something else?"

"No," Timmy pouted. "Just...give me a few minutes." He closed his eyes and breathed deep, nuzzling his face closer into Dex's arm. Slowly, Dex tipped his head down to rest on Timmy's.

They sat like that for a few moments, before Timmy stirred. Dex lifted his head to let Timmy up, but far from moving away, Timmy shuffled closer and nudged his face into Dex's neck. He sniffed, and Dex froze-because how did you react when someone was smelling you?-but then Timmy was pulling back, narrowing his eyes at Dex.

"Something happened last night, didn't it?" He whispered. "You're a terrible liar and I smelled like you this morning."

"What?" Dex knew he looked guilty even without Timmy's accompanying skeptical glare. "I...I..."

"Oh no." Timmy pulled away from him, his face red as he shook his head from side to side. "We..we slept together?"

"Yes. I mean...no! No...like, 'sleep' sleep. Not that kind of sleeping. Real sleeping!" Dex tried to assure him, tripping over his words.

Timmy shut his eyes and curled into the pillow on his knees. "Gee. Why didn't you just...tell me that instead of giving me a heart attack?"

When Dex didn't answer, Timmy turned his head to peer at him suspiciously. "Dex, what is going on?"

Dex made a small, noncommittal sound at the back of his throat.

"What?"

"Nothing," Dex mumbled.

"Like I believe that!"

"Just...trust me; you just want to forget about it." Dex went to stand, but Timmy latched onto his arm and dragged him back down.

"No, I really want you to tell me what happened so I can stop worrying about it."

"Timmy..."

"Dex, if we didn't sle..sleep together then what could be so wrong that you would have to lie to me about it and..."

"You said you were in love with me," Dex muttered quickly, as if that would make it so Timmy didn't hear. Timmy snapped his mouth shut and stared. Dex looked away, swallowing hard.

He closed his eyes as he felt Timmy stand up, and didn't cry until he heard the slam of the bedroom door.

He cried for Timmy, because there was nothing else he could do now.

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It was late at night when Dex actually dared head into his own bedroom. He didn't even look at the lump on the bed while he changed into a pair of boxers and went to brush his teeth. When he came back out into the bedroom, Timmy was sitting up in his bed, blankets wrapped around him up his back and into a hood over his head, watching Dex warily. The only light from the room was that filtering from the bathroom, but Dex could still see the shine of Timmy's eyes, the shadows of his face.

"Am I supposed to sleep on the couch then?" Dex asked wearily.

Timmy shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well...um..." Dex shuffled his bare foot, suddenly wishing he was wearing something appropriate other than his underwear. "I'll go then..."

He started towards the door and was halfway out when Timmy's whisper stopped him. "Please come back."

"Okay," Dex murmured, and he toed his way across the floor, head down, and clambered up onto the end of the bed. One of Timmy's feet was poking out from underneath his blanket cocoon, and Dex wrapped his fingers around Timmy's ankle, squeezing once before letting go. Small touches, small anchors.

Timmy didn't say anything, and Dex was too nervous to do anything but sit there, waiting. Finally, Timmy let the blanket slip off his head and shoulders, leaving his face flushed and hair sticking on end. "I'm sorry," he told Dex.

"For what?" Dex asked, shuffling so he could sit cross-legged and place his hands in his lap. Timmy had made this feel like it was his fault, all the time. Dex's fault. So why was he apologizing?

"For telling you that I love you," Timmy answered calmly, like this was some sort of business call. "I shouldn't have done that and I'm sorry."

Dex shrugged. "It...it's fine." It's not. "I did the same to you."

Timmy shook his head slightly back and forth. "No. No, it wasn't the same."

Dex frowned. "No, I think it was." He needed it to be. That way they were even. That way he could believe that Timmy was just as lost as he was.

Timmy's eyes flickered to his, back down. "No, it isn't," he muttered.

"Why...why not?" Dex asked.

Timmy shut his eyes tight and wrapped his arms around his chest. "Because you were able to mean it."

The wording caught at Dex's ears, even as the words themselves trickled icy and dark into his stomach. 'Able to mean it', not 'you meant it'.

"So...so you don't love me," he whispered. He needed to know. He needed things to make sense again, even if it was the kind of sense that he didn't want.

Not knowing was worse that knowing even the answer he hated.

Timmy sniffed and hid his head between his knees. Dex frowned and shuffled forward until he could place his hands on Timmy's shoulders and squeeze gently. "Timmy?"

"It doesn't make any difference," Timmy whispered, not raising his head.

"It does to me," Dex told him.

Timmy turned his head to the side and sighs. "I can't love you, Dex," he said.

"Can't or don't?" Dex asked, moving so he can meet Timmy's eyes.

Timmy stared at him, cheeks flushed pink and eyes bright. "Can't," he croaked. "Even if I do."

Dex felt the catch in his chest, the tingle in his nose that signaled the tears building behind his eyes. He did. He did, but he couldn't, and Dex would take it, take it and revel in it even as it broke his heart. But it broke Timmy even more, he knew. He knew, and he couldn't make it better. "You don't...I won't hurt you, Timmy. I swear it."

"I know that," Timmy said. "I know you wouldn't."

"Then..." Dex turned away to scrub at his eyes with the back of his hand before those seemingly ever-present tears could appear on his face again. "I don't understand why...why you push me away."

Timmy shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, shivering even wrapped in his blanket. "B-because," he whispered, "I needed to protect you."

This didn't make sense. Protect him? Timmy didn't protect him, he protected himself, that was what Dex knew, that what he had based everything off of, how he had justified everything Timmy had done. "Why would you need to protect me?" Dex asked, shaking his head back and forth. "And...and it wasn't even that! You...you...you hurt me, Timmy."

"Not as much as I would have," Timmy snapped back. He groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What does that even mean?" Dex asked, voice swelling and growing angrier. "Why...what...what are you so afraid of? Falling in love?"

"Yes!" Timmy cried, throwing the blankets away and throwing himself off the bed in a single movement. He threaded his hands in his hair and groaned, facing away from Dex as he started stalking around the room. He was outlined against the light, dark in Dex's vision. "Yes, I'm afraid of falling in love with you. And it sucks, because I've been in love with you for months now and there's nothing I can do about it!"

Timmy loved him. Timmy loved him, but he hated it, and that wasn't any type of victory. Not at all. This was supposed to feel good. It didn't.

"You could have told me," Dex murmured, tangling his hands in his lap.

Timmy barked out a laugh, and Dex cringed. "I couldn't tell you," Timmy said quietly. "That's the problem." He went quiet, and when Dex looked up, Timmy was staring at him, and Dex could see the tracks of tears down his cheeks even in the muted lighting.

"Dex," Timmy whispered, moving forward to perch on the edge of the bed. He reached out, stroked a hand down Dex's cheek, and it was only then that Dex realized his own tears have escaped, the mutinous little bastards. "It's not that I don't want to be in love with you. I really wish...wish I could be. But...but things go wrong..." His voice broke on the word. "...when I love people. And...and I love you, and I can't...I can't let that happen. Not again."

"But...but you love me." Dex shook his head, dislodging Timmy's hand. "And I love you, and I don't see why you're so afraid..."

"Because I love you, you idiot!" Timmy told him harshly. "Okay? I care about you. I want you to be happy. And...so I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell you that and I don't know why I'm telling you now because...because now everything's ruined!"

"Why couldn't you tell me?" Dex asked, grabbing Timmy's wrist before he could stand up again and yanking him closer. "I don't..."

"Because I've been there!" Timmy yelled, ripping his hand away. "Okay? I know...I know how this feels!"

"How what feels?"

"I was going to die, Dex!" Timmy shrieked. "What part of that is difficult to understand?" And he began to cry, overwhelming sobs that broke him, broke Dex as well, because loving someone was so damn hard all of sudden. Why did it have to be so damn hard? He sat there, next to Timmy, and watched him as he cried, not daring to touch, until his own vision blurred to the point where Timmy was just a smear of color against the darkness of the room. All he could hear were Timmy's gasps and chokes as he tried to stop, tried to hold himself together and not shatter, and every sound just struck another blow against Dex, and he could feel the cracks appearing. God, why was finding a fairytale so difficult?

Finally, Timmy brought his breathing under control, and leaned his head against Dex's shoulder, fingers playing up and down his arm. And he spoke.

"When someone you love dies, it seems like it would be the most painful thing." He shrugged his shoulder, and Dex could feel the ripple of movement through his body, rather than see it. "But...but when someone dies and you know they loved you back...trust me, Dex, it's even worse." His breath hitched, and Dex wondered for a second if he was going to cry again, but after a moment he steadied himself, breathed deep, continued. "Because not only do you lose them, but you lose the way they loved you."

Dex had never thought about that. But now he did, as he slowly moved an arm up to wrap around Timmy's waist. He thought of all Timmy had lost, and he thought of the true reason people mourn. And he thought that, even if Timmy couldn't speak for everyone, he spoke for himself, and that was all that Dex needed to know.

"I couldn't do that to you," Timmy whispered. "I couldn't."

"You're not going to die Timmy," Dex murmured.

"I know," Timmy admitted. "But it still feels like I'm going to."

"What..." Dex cleared his throat. "When will it stop feeling like that?"

"I'm not sure." Timmy turned his head to stare at Dex. "I...I know that...I know that this isn't...isn't easy."

"Do you..." Dex cleared his throat. "When it stops feeling like that...do you think you'll be able to? Love me?"

Timmy sighed, and wrapped his fingers tight around Dex's wrist. "I don't think I'll be able to not love you, to be quite honest."

Dex blinked, nibbled on his lip, and shook his head.

"What?" Timmy asked him, "What is it?"

I'm not sure why you love me. "Nothing."

"I don't believe you."

Of course he didn't. Dex was terrible at hiding his feelings. "It's not important now. Maybe...maybe later. But it can wait."

Timmy raised his eyebrows, stared, but nodded. "Okay." He looked down at where he had his hand locked around Dex's wrist, pale skin against tan. Finally, he lifted his head and asks, "But...will you wait?"

"Hmm?"

Timmy huffed, shuffled around so he could turn his body towards Dex. He placed his hands on Dex's knees, gently kneading through his pajama bottoms. "Can you wait for me? Wait until...until I can love you? Because I really do want to love you, but if..."

Dex cupped his cheek in one hand, pressed a kiss to his forehead, chaste and gentle. "I promise."

He slept on the couch that night.

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The week passed, and Dex realized how he had come to depend on the numbers. It was a relief, in fact, to be able to go to work, and the numbers might be ever-changing, but they were always there, and they didn't lie to him. Constant. And consistency was something Dex craved very much in his life right now.

They hadn't talked again of love and promises, not since that Friday. It went unsaid between them, in every accidental glance, the brush of hands. The knowledge that what they had was real, and tangible, but they couldn't acknowledge it, touch it even. It was brittle. Breakable. So they lived on, buried the words, buried the touches, and tried to return to the small realities of a trivial world. Dex needed to earn money; Timmy needed to return the hospital every day. Keep living.

But every night, Timmy got worse. He was exhausted, and irritable for it, and when Dex could actually convince him to eat, half the time he ended up next to the toilet, shivering and sweating and ordering Dex to leave every time he tried to help. On Wednesday, he passed out there, right on the bathroom floor, and Dex just sat with him and rocked slowly back and forth until his shivering subsided. He wished there was something more he could do, but even if he could, Timmy wouldn't let him. Everything was so close now, so close to being over, with only one and half weeks of radiation therapy left, but strung tight, fragile.

"I hate this," Timmy told him one night. They were sitting in the living room, Timmy stretched out on the couch and Dex in the chair, reading. "I hate this so much."

"What?" Dex bookmarked his place and set the book down to look at Timmy.

"Everything," Timmy replied simply. "I hate waiting like this. I hate thinking that everything will be over soon, because I want it to be over now. I hate not having any control."

"Next Friday," Dex told him. "That's your last treatment. And the oncologist said that you're doing well. It'll only be a few more check-ups and then it's all gone."

"No," Timmy disagreed, sighing as he set aside his newspaper. "It won't ever be gone. Not completely. And that's what I hate the most."

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Dex did bring it up once. "Timmy?" He asked, while they sat together at dinner. Timmy's stirring his tomato soup around aimlessly, and glanced up when Dex spoke.

"Yes?"

"How will I know when I'm done waiting?"

Timmy sighed, went on to running his finger around the rim of his bowl.

"Timmy?"

"I'll break," Timmy told him, not looking up. "That's how you'll know."

Dex frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I want this to be over, every day. And...and the day it is...that'll be day I finally can't take it anymore." He glanced up, caught Dex's eyes. "That's just how it happens, Dex. There's nothing you can do."

Because Timmy was used to breaking. And every time he pieced himself back together, pulled the threads and sown himself whole again, to the point where all you could see were faint little scars, barely noticeable on the outside.

One day, Dex might see those scars, compare them to his own, cover them with kisses, and maybe after enough time they would begin to fade.

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Jon and Davis showed up at his apartment Friday night, uninvited. Dex was making dinner when he heard the buzzing from the front door, and he left his sauce to simmer as he went to answer.

"Hello?"

"Dex? Hey, let us up, it's freezing!" Jon's voice answers him, and he could hear Davis agreeing in the background.

He saw Timmy head poked up over the back of the couch, eyebrows raised in alarm. "Um...I don't think that's the best idea, guys," he said.

"No," Davis told him. "You haven't been out with us for weeks. We're hitting the bar tonight, now come on, let us in. Or come down, either works."

"I haven't had dinner yet," Dex protested, and he watched as Timmy gathered up his blankets and stood, shuffling into the hallway.

"That's okay, we'll go grab something."

"No, no, listen..."

"No. Dex. You've turned into a complete shut-in and we're concerned. You need to come out with us. Come on," Jon ordered. Dex heard the click of the bedroom door as Timmy made his escape.

"I don't really want to leave," he told them. "I need to stay here. I'm sorry."

"Dex..."

"Look, do you guys want to come up for a beer or something?" He asked desperately. "I just...can't leave." It was hard enough going to work-there's no way he was abandoning Timmy now.

He could hear them whispering about it, soft enough so he couldn't actually catch the words, but then Davis was speaking again. "Okay. It's a deal. Let us up."

Dex typed in his code to open the front doors and left the two of them to find their way to an elevator as he jogged down the hall to the bedroom.

Timmy was already curled in the bed, face scrunched tight and shiny with sweat. "Timmy?" Dex whispered, reaching out to push Timmy's hair away from his forehead. Timmy opened his eyes and stared at Dex wearily.

"I don't really feel like meeting anyone right now."

"I know. You stay here. I'll bring you dinner in just a few minutes. They won't see you." He already knew there was no way he would be able to hide Timmy completely. Jon and Davis were both intelligent people, and Dex's entire apartment was permeated with Timmy's presence. The finished crosswords lying around in odd places, the stack of DVDs on the kitchen table, the nests of blankets, his clothes in boxes in the corners of the room. But even if Dex would have to eventually explain, he wanted to be able to keep Timmy out of it. Keep him safe.

"Okay." Timmy closed his eyes once more, pulled the blankets tighter.

Dex patted his back, once, before heading back out and closing the door behind him. He headed to the front just in time to let Jon and Davis in before they start knocking. "Hey guys."

"Hi Dex," Jon greeted him, clapping him on the shoulder before moving inside and unslinging the scarf from around his neck. "Long time no see."

"You see me!" Dex protested, holding out his hands for their coats. "And I've been busy."

"I'm sure," Davis snorted. He lifted an eyebrow at the mess in the kitchen. "Want some help?"

"What? Oh..." Dex threw the jackets down on the chair and rushed to turn the heat down under his sauce. "No. I got it. Um...make yourselves at home." Timmy's dinner. Right, he needed to do that too.

He stirred frantically at the sauce as Jon and Davis found places on the couch and chair.

"You seem a little...worried," Jon commented, studying Dex as he poked at his noodles. "Are you alright?"

Dex chuckled, and he knew it sounded forced. "Yeah, I'm fine!"

The two of them exchanged glances, which Dex tried to ignore.

"So...how's life been?" He asked, abandoning the noodles in favor of grabbing some beer cans from the refrigerator.

"Oh...fine," Davis answered.

"Same here," Jon agreed.

Dex bit his lip, nodded, walked over to the living room and handed them the beers. "Cool." He returned to the kitchen and grabbed some tomato soup out of the cupboard. He popped the lid and poured the soup into a bowl to heat in the microwave. Tomato soup was usually a safe bet with Timmy's stomach. "You...you guys have any plans for the weekend?"

"Nothing much," Davis said. "I have a date on Saturday."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Davis sighed. "I don't know. I used one of those Internet dating sites."

Dex raised his eyebrows but didn't comment.

"It's a sad day when three reasonably good looking, well-off individuals can't find a date without the help of a website," Jon sighed. "It always seemed a lot easier in those eighties rom-coms."

"Yeah," Dex agreed with a chuckle, moving back to grab the soup out of the microwave as the machine started to ding at him. He spooned the soup into a bowl, poured a glass of juice, and set everything on a tray. Of course, he was not managing to be very discreet here, but Jon and Davis could wait. It was not like he was fooling himself into thinking they wouldn't realize something was off, although he would try to avoid it as long as he could. "Um...I'll be back in a minute, okay?"

"Of course," Davis told him, leaning back in the chair and taking a drink. Dex grabbed the tray and scurried into the hallway, slipping into the bedroom. Timmy turned over and sat himself up when Dex approached the bed.

"Who's here?" He asked.

"Jon and Davis. Friends from high school," Dex explained, setting the tray on the night-side table and fluffing the pillows up behind Timmy so he could sit up taller. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Timmy muttered, taking the tray and staring dubiously at the soup. He glanced up at Dex. "They're your friends? How long do you think they'll be here?"

"They just want to catch up," Dex told him calmly, "I haven't really seen them for a couple of weeks now."

Timmy frowned, paused with a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Should I...should I say hi? It's sort of my fault you haven't..."

"Not your fault," Dex told him immediately, and he patted him on the knee under the blankets before heading for the door.

Jon and Davis were still sipping politely at their beers when he got back to the living room.

"So...that dating site..." He started with a self-deprecating laugh. Jon raised his eyebrows, stared at him.

"What?"

"Is there someone in the bedroom?"

Dex shut his eyes, sinking into the couch. "Kind of hoping you wouldn't notice."

Jon snorted. "You live in a New York apartment, Dex. The walls are thin. So unless your bed sheets enjoy holding conversation and have an inexplicable yearning for soup then..."

"Oh shit," Davis whispered with sudden horror in his voice, standing quickly. "Oh...damn, you were having sex, damn, we'll leave..."

"No!" Dex yelped. "No, I wasn't..." He remembered Timmy in the bedroom, awake and aware, and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "It isn't sex!"

"Oh my God." Jon set down his beer and buried his head in his hands. "What the hell Dex? Who's in the bedroom?"

Dex paused, because at this point he didn't know how to describe Timmy to himself, much less his friends. And they didn't know about his changed preference. "He's a...he's a friend," he said haltingly.

"He," Davis deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, 'he'," Dex snapped back. "Gotta share the love, not that you'd know..."

"Hey now," Jon placated him, lifting his head from his hands. "What would you think if I had a woman hanging out in my bedroom, huh?"

There was a sudden noise from the hallway, and all three turned quickly only to find Timmy stumbling into the kitchen, still wrapped up entirely in his blanket. Timmy blushed, digging into the cupboard and grabbing the box of Saltines. When he glanced up, he studied Jon and Davis for a half second before raising the crackers. "Can I take these?" He rasped.

"Yeah, go ahead," Dex told him softly. Because if Timmy had decided he'd rather see people right now than go cracker-less, he could have all the crackers he wanted. Dex would buy out the store if he needed to.

"M'kay." Timmy tucked the box into his chest and started back towards the bedroom, dragging the blanket behind him. "Bye, Dex's friends." The door clicked shut behind him, and Jon and Davis turned to stare at him, wide-eyed.

"What the hell, Dex?" Davis asked. "Who is that?"

Dex sighed.

Because there was so much to explain. Because he knew he would never be able to. Because suddenly Timmy was not his, not anymore, not now that life had to come poking its nose in. Now they couldn't just be 'Timmy and Dex', words going unsaid between them. Now they had to be something else, something that the rest of the world could define, and categorize. And when something was defined, it could lose so much.

I love him and he loves me but we can't say it out loud, not yet, because that might ruin everything.

He saved me from myself and now I'm trying to do the same, if he'll let me.

I found the one person I can imagine waking up beside every morning, if only I can convince him to stay.

"He's a friend," he said instead. "I told you." Anything else will just ruin it.

"Then why is he in your bedroom?" Jon accused. Dex narrowed his eyes at him. Why couldn't they leave it alone? Why did everything have to defined in neat little words and boxes?

"Because he's sick, alright?" He said between clenched teeth. "He's really sick and needed someone to help take care of him. Okay? We're not doing anything together-I'm trying to help him get better!"

"What...?"

"No," Dex told them. "No, that's all I'm going to say about it."

That was all he could say about it.

........................................................

They left soon after, mumbling goodbyes and asking Dex to call when things settled down. "Let me know if I can help out," Jon told him as they stepped out into the hallway. "Cook dinner, or something. Just let me know."

"Thank you," Dex muttered. "And...I'm sorry. It was just...complicated."

"It's fine, Dex," Davis said. "We were just a little worried, is all. About you. But yeah, let me know if I can do anything to help."

"Yeah," Dex agreed. "Thanks."

"Wait." Jon caught his arm before he ducked back inside. "Are you going to be okay?" He met Dex's eyes and didn't let go. "You're going to be okay, right?"

"If I'm not, I'll know which shoulders to go cry on." He smiled faintly at the both of them before closing the door. It was not an answer, he knew, but it would be enough for them. They knew him.

Timmy was still eating when Dex opened the door to the bedroom, dipping the crackers into the soup diligently before nibbling on the edges.

"Are they gone?" He asked without glancing up.

"Yeah," Dex said.

"Did I screw things up?"

"What? No." Dex went to sit on the end of the bed. "No, nothing's screwed up. They were just a little surprised is all."

"By the random face of death creeping into your kitchen? Yeah, understandable. But I wanted to see them." He popped the rest of a cracker into his mouth and looked up at Dex. "You haven't told people about me?"

"There will be time for that later. Right now, people don't need to know." Dex reached out to rub at his leg beneath the covers. "There are more important things going on. Getting you better."

Timmy rolled his eyes. "Sap."

"But you like it."

"I do," Timmy whispered. "I really do."

........................................................

Neither Jon nor Davis brought up Timmy again that week, even though they began emailing and texting him every day to 'check up on him', and for that Dex was thankful. They seemed to have realized just how close Dex had been guarding Timmy, keeping him secret and close and safe, and Dex knew that they remembered him in high school, how hard and how fast he fell, and they worried for him. Because Dex was usually incapable of keeping secrets.

So the days passed, and Dex lived on. He woke up, went to work, usually called Timmy during his lunch break just to make sure he was alright and set to take a cab to the hospital. Timmy had to talk him out of coming home a few times, voice weak and weary, because Dex hated the idea of Timmy going alone, but he also understood that Timmy needed to.

Most nights he came home to find Timmy asleep, either on the couch or in Dex's bed, face buried in Dex's pillows. Dex had never asked him why he did it, and perhaps it should feel odd to have Timmy sleeping in his bed, but it made him feel better, for some reason, the idea that Timmy fell asleep in the same place Dex had dreamed about him, those nice dreams of hand holding and kissing and soft whispers. When he was at work he liked to imagine Timmy being all wrapped up in dreams, protected and sheltered, because Timmy didn't have any dreams of his own, not anymore.

........................................................

When Dex got home from work on Wednesday night, Timmy was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear the sound of the shower running when he headed into the bedroom to change into sweatpants and a t-shirt. The steam was leaking out from under the door, and Dex took it as a good sign. Timmy hadn't had the energy to do much else than lie on the couch for days now, so the fact that he was taking a shower must be a good thing. Progress.

Dex headed into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of tortilla chips out of cupboard, bringing the bag with him to couch and switching on the television. There was nothing very good now, mostly trashy news programs, but Dex watched anyway. There was nothing better for him to do, not until Timmy finished up.

Two more days. Two more days and it was done, or at least that was what the oncologist kept telling them. Next, of course, would be the recovery, the stitching of pieces. Timmy would fix himself, and this time, maybe Dex would help. Things would change. Timmy might move back to his crummy little apartment, Dex would finally take the time to assess the amount of damage done to his trust fund-a lot, more than originally estimated. But Timmy would be alive, and Dex would be okay too.

This might not be a fairytale, but Dex couldn't push away his fundamental belief in happy endings.

It was when he was halfway through the bag of chips half an hour into a bad Lifetime movie that he realized the shower was still running. It was a slow realization, the trickling of pipes, the rush of water, the absence of all other sound. He turned off the television quickly and listened hard for a noise, any noise but the run of water, but none greeted his ears.

Dex brushed off his hands on his jeans as he stood and paced down the hall to the bedroom. The light was still filtering under the door to the bathroom, but the steam had disappeared. Dex shoved open the door, saw the closed curtain, heard the steady thrum of water hitting the sides of the shower. "Timmy?" He called anxiously. "Timmy, are you okay?"

There was no answer. Dex's heart leaped into his throat, and he rushed forward, slid the curtain across so fast the rings snapped.

Timmy stared up at him, arms wrapped around his legs, curled on the floor of the tub. His eyes were swollen, bright, his mouth red from where he had chewed his lips to bleeding, and his entire body was trembling, naked and exposed.

Dex didn't see it at first, as he scans Timmy's body for sign of injury, but then his eyes strayed to the tub, notice the color against the white, and he knew what had happened.

Hair clogged the drain, brown and dead and gone, and now Dex could see the patches on Timmy's head where it fell out, obvious by the way his remaining hair was plastered to his scalp by the water.

A final reminder. Timmy's sick and he was still sick and he might be almost better now but there was never any pretending that this didn't happen.

Of course, they had both known it was a possibility. But why was it now, now that everything was almost over, that this seemed like something so big?

Timmy blinked up at him, hazy-eyed, and shakes his head slowly back and forth. "Dex," he croaked, and he reached out one hand imploringly.

Dex didn't think. He just clambered into the tub, right behind Timmy, molded himself to Timmy's back and held him close. "It's okay," he whispered, as the water, freezing, melted over them, soaking Dex's clothes, drenching his face and hair as he closed his eyes and focused on the body in his arms. "It's okay."

"Dex." Timmy's arms came up over his head, wrapped around Dex's neck, his legs fell open as his body relaxed into Dex's touch. He was so cold, muscles jumping under the plane of his skin as he shivered. "Dex, Dex, Dex, Dex..."

Dex shut his eyes, pushed his face into Timmy's neck, let his arms tighten around

Timmy's stomach. "It's okay. It's going to be okay." He rocked back and forth, back and forth, and he knew that the smart thing to do was to turn off the water and get Timmy into bed, but at the same time, Timmy was holding him here, holding tight, and Dex couldn't imagine letting go.

He'd never imagined his first time with Timmy naked in his arms would be quite like this, and he hated his body for reacting the way it did, when Timmy shoved himself back harder, his back rubbing against Dex's length through the fabric of his sweatpants. Timmy whimpered, tilted his head to the side to expose more of his neck, straightened out his legs until his feet brushed the end of the tub, pushed back. Dex bit his lip to stop the groan from escaping when Timmy rubbed against him.

"T-Timmy..." he gasped, "I'm sorry, I..."

But then Timmy's hand had detached from around his neck, skimmed down the plane of his own chest, grabbed onto Dex's. He turned his head to stare at Dex as he took his hand, placed it on his own half-hard length, and Dex realized that Timmy was rubbing against him on purpose.

"Timmy...Timmy I..."

"Please," Timmy gasped, wrapping Dex's fingers around him as he shoved back against Dex. "Please do this..."

"Oh God, oh God, oh..."

Timmy kissed him, wet and sloppy and desperate. Their teeth clinked together, lips sucking and grabbing helplessly as Dex started to stroke up and down Timmy's length in a stuttering rhythm.

This wasn't what he imagined their first kiss would be like.

In Dex's mind, it happened a thousand times. That night Timmy caught snowflakes on his tongue, how he turned smiling to Dex, walked up to him, pressed his lips soft and sweet and gentle to Dex's. When they painted, Timmy would turn his head, smile, and Dex would lean forward, kiss the corner of Timmy's mouth, and Timmy would slide his mouth along they were kissing properly, slow and sensual. Or when they were on one of the coffee dates, Timmy would look around furtively, before dipping his head forward and giving Dex a chaste little kiss, secret and special, before settling back into his seat with a smile.

This wasn't like that. Timmy's mouth was warm and soft, but needy, making small noises as he shoved his tongue between Dex's panting lips, took him all. His lips were raw and swollen from biting, and the water had washed away any taste Dex might have found on him.

He didn't know what to do.

He didn't want this.

Timmy nipped at his bottom lip, lets go, pulled away. He shifted, twisting in Dex's arms, and his back peeled away from Dex's shirt, allowing the water to run between them, making Dex shiver as Timmy's hands went to the top of his pants, yanking them down and grabbing his thick length in his hand. His eyes were feverish, his movements quick and clumsy, as he started stroking Dex, trying to get him to harden. "C'mon, c'mon," he whispered, more to himself. Dex felt himself respond to the touch, but oh God how he hated it, he didn't want this, not like this, he didn't want it.

Dex couldn't do this.

"Timmy..." He grabbed Timmy's hands, brought them up, forced Timmy to turn around, kneel before him with his wrists caught in front of his face. Now he could see. Timmy was crying-those silent, deadly tears-as he stared back at Dex, chest heaving, lips trembling. "Timmy..."

He pressed their foreheads together, moved his hands from Timmy's wrists, and slid them up his arms, the slopes of his shoulders, to cup his face, fingers smoothing over the flare of his cheekbones. "We don't need this," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Please..."

"I need to love you right now," Timmy croaked. "I need..."

"Not like this," Dex told him. "Not like this." He pressed Timmy against his chest, kissed down his neck, his collarbone, lips lingering at every touch. Slowly, he reached out one hand until he could turn off the water. They knelt there together, at the bottom of the tub, sealed together and both shivering with cold. Timmy hid his face in Dex's soaked shirt, muffled the sounds of his own sobs.

Eventually, Dex extricated himself, stood, and pulled his pants up. He went to the cupboard and grabbed all the towels he could find, perching on the edge of the tub and wrapping them around Timmy, rubbing him dry. Timmy kept his head down the entire time, moved when Dex prompted him.

When Dex rubbed Timmy's head dry, the towel came away with another clump of hair. Dex threw that one on the floor quickly, and guided Timmy to his feet. He was shaky in the legs, and shivering rather violently as Dex helped him out of the tub. He wraps an arm around Timmy's waist and walked him out into the bedroom, over to the bed. He pulled back the covers and Timmy laid down obediently. At this point, Dex didn't see any point to modesty, so he peeled away the towels so Timmy wasn't wrapped in wet terrycloth before drawing the blankets up to Timmy's chin.

He leaned down, brushed his lips on Timmy's cheek. "Do you want anything?"

Timmy rolled his eyes before reaching up and shoving Dex away. "Go get undressed and talk to me when you're naked."

"Presumptuous." Dex grinned at him before raising his arms and pulling the sodden t-shirt off over his head.

"Mmm...I know what I want, yes." Timmy closed his eyes and hummed as Dex stripped away his pants and boxers, leaving them in a wet heap on the floor. "Now come lie down with me." Dex paused and Timmy cracked open one eye. "I'm not gonna seduce you," he said wearily, blushing. "I just...need someone to love me right now."

Dex felt his face go slack with wonder as he slipped under the covers next to Timmy. He let Timmy tuck him into his arms, felt the slide of chill skin as they pressed their bodies together. "I always love you," he whispered, and Timmy smiled.

"I'm glad." He nuzzled their noses together. Dex smiled back, moved forward, kissed him, soft and slow and sweet until neither of them could breathe.

"Thank you," Timmy whispered against Dex's lips. "You're right. I just...that was....a shock." The way his voice trembled on the last word told him it was much more than that.

"It's okay," Dex told him. "You're okay. We're okay."

"I just wanted to be close to you," Timmy murmured, nuzzling his face into Dex's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so-"

"No," Dex told him. "It's okay. We'll be close like this."

There was a pause, and then Timmy muttered, "I know I shouldn't care, but..." He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head back and forth in a jerky little motion. "My hair...I...I can't..."

"You're beautiful," Dex said quietly, raising a hand to the side of Timmy's face. "You're so beautiful."

Timmy stared at him, eyes hooded and lips parted, almost as if he couldn't believe what Dex just told him. "Thank you," he murmured at last.

"I love you," Dex whispered back, and for now, that was enough to hold things together.

........................................................

αυтнσя'ѕ иσтє:

A shoutout to Anthony @__Anthony__!

To Anthony @__Anthony__:

I shall present you guys with the sweetest couple award! *drums rolling, trumpets blaring* May you and Dex live happily ever after, and have kids named Dexon, Anex and Danthony!

And to my psychotic readers? Please bear with some of the errors as I have not much time to proof-read. However, I promise to edit right after my exams! *pinky promises*

[Edit: I have corrected most of the errors, so you Grammar Nazis out there can chill the fark out. XD]

Anyways, Timmy! You naughty pixie! *smacks Timmy on the shoulder*

My apologies to those who've been offended by the bath-tub scene. However, it was relevant so... *runs away*

Until next chapter...

*offers everyone huge vanilla snow cones*

PS. Safe and Sound performed by Sam Tsui,