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SEVENTEEN

Not sure how we got to this situation, I wasn't sure why I felt so comfortable about it either but he's looking at me.

Like really looking at me, I think for the first time. Hazel eyes are boring deep into mine, he's standing far away but the energy is so different. We're at some coffee shop.

I didn't think I could see him like this. He's nervous, it's obvious but he's confident.

And we're standing so close and... And he leans in, he smiles.

And we're kissing. Really kissing.

Like a magnet swaying between our chests kissing, teeth on teeth, body on body, his hands pressed to my lower back, he squeezes, makes me feel small.

He's touching... kissing.

Touching. He's lifting me on a counter, he's kissing down the expanse of my neck, fire following, curling some hair around his fingers at the back of my head.

He's tugging my head back, lips pressed to my Addams Apple. We're in an apartment, I think.

I'm horny.

That's evident, I want it. He's so cute.

I felt flushed, skin hot to the touch. A tanned arm pythons around my waist, he towers over me at this height, his hard chest is pressed to me.

I'm naked.

I'm fucked.

Deeper skin and a tattoo snaking up the side of his calf, his legs bracketing mine, he's fucking into me.

I can't fucking breathe.

Bent over, body flush to mine, he's staring out at something in the distance, it's a canvas. Isaiah's grunting, waves of incandescent pleasure rake through me. I'm seeing spots. The scene in front of me shines through, I'm trying to hold on.

It's our apartment on fifth, it's Paul's desk, and paint corner, it's the bed in the corner that he would sleep on so as to not wake me.

It's us standing there, Paul hyper-fixating on a piece, my arms wrapped around him. I'm in boxers, a big tee, socks, it's us. It's love, it's everything the word contains.

And all of a sudden it's us in bed, he's touching my chest now.

And he asks me if I'm sure. He tells me he loves me.

Hazel eyes are brown now, and he shrinks.

He's Pablo-Luis. My eyes snap open, my love lies there, sleeping.

The brisk air rubs up against warm skin, his brows are knitted together. I wonder if he's always looked so angry in his sleep. I'm guilty, it finds itself home in my throat, cloaked in apologies left unsaid. I remember the feeling of Izzy, almost like he's still there and it's different.

It's so different.

I peel myself out of bed before he wakes. I toss on running shoes, a hoodie, and sweatpants, heading out the door faster than he can stir awake and I'm running.

Sprinting actually, my lungs burn. It's punishment, calves are screaming before I fall.

I'm laying in a field now, air washing over my body, I can breathe again. I'm looking at the sky, it's washed-out blues. Izzy meets me there, as he's been doing for the past few weeks.

We end up in a coffee shop, my skin sweating, buzzing near him. This crush is starting to get complicated, I make a mental note to grab for more space once the check comes.

He gets a coffee, I get a tea, he talks of his own alcoholism again.

I wonder if he should be having this conversation with Paul, and why he's chosen me instead.

We sit, my body burns for him, I sip. I ignore temptation.

-

JULIAN

"PJ, look at you, you're not okay."

"Please leave me alone."

"No."

He's been pacing this floor for five minutes now. It's puzzling, the way he seems so nervous to be this way in front of me like he's never done it before.

Like I wouldn't remember, maybe he actually didn't remember.

I told him he needed a shower, he told me I needed therapy.

Honestly, I did. I mean, I know it wasn't his fault but something in me was starting to resent him. I could feel him pushing everything onto me, I wondered if he felt like he carried the load so long, I could do the same. The wine bottle on the table is almost empty and he's avoiding my eye contact. He's frowning, his voice is more nasally than normal, and his cheeks are pink.

Blushy, eyes over dilated and droopy. His lids hang long and his tongue is glued to his teeth. He grinds them against each other.

"I can't do this right now. Jules—"

I'm not leaving. It's too clear in my stance, he's starting to know that as well.

He's angry, it shows. He's drunk, and it shows.

He's stepping back from me again, like that will diffuse the situation. And he's turning away from me, running away. I catch his wrist.

He twists away.

My love is laughing that condescending, angry, bitter laugh. I try not to take his words to heart. We're standing in his apartment, his body shielding the rest of his living room. I'm watching that bottle of wine, watching the way that he watches me.

"Since you can't get the fucking hint-"

"Stop talking to me like that."

It's graveled in a laugh, "Jules-"

"I'm not joking."

Bloodshot eyes meet mine, they widen, then close in embarrassment. He walks further in, I trail him.

He grabs for the glass on the table, he takes a sip, I try to hold in my discontent.

"I'm not going anywhere."

He scoffs.

"So we're just gonna sit here and figure this out."

He laughs. Paul was good at that, at hiding his sadness in malice. I kept eye contact, didn't let it waver, tuned out what he said, caught the end "...You're saying that I can't be alone when I-when I need to be alone, then what? Yyou're gonna blame me for ruining your fucking party."

"You're angry drinking. Isaiah said—"

He guffaws. It's meant to stop me in my tracks.

I refuse to waver. "Isaiah said that's the worst thing that you can do-" He's laughing again. He's shaking his head and it's stiff, his hands are stiff at his sides as the glass hangs from his hand, he's so uncomfortable it's scary.

He folds his arms into his chest and the wine in the glass sloshes over the rim, a few droplets windborne, staining his tee.

It's a Warriors t-shirt. I've never seen it before, it's too big for him. It's Izzy's.

I know it is.

"You talk to Izzy." He sneered. "You talk to Izzy and you want me to take this serious?"

"You lived with him."

"You fucked Wren." He laughed. "You flew back to me with his mark on your neck and now you're running back to me after being with him last night."

"I was not with him last night."

"You we're cuddled up on the couch and then slipped into bed with me."

"I-is this just some awful joke to you—"

"Julian." It's softer, maybe he wasn't in his mind but he was certainly rational enough to try and manipulate me. He's touching my arms now, in Isaiah's shirt and I can't be angry, it won't happen because I smell the wine.

I love him, but I see him.

The bottle still sits on the counter, he's looking that way, not at me. I wonder how many times he's done that... How he's thought of drinking before thinking of me.

"Jules, I need you to leave."

"I don't think that's what you need."

"That's not on you-"

"Luis." He's pacing again, he's scratching the back of his neck. "Your show is in two days, I'm not letting you hide out, it's important, I wanna be here."

"Then just... relax." He's stepping towards me, with a glint in his eye, his hands are on my hips, twining around, pulling me closer.

No.

"Baby..."

"You've been drinking..." And lying to me. "And treating me like I don't matter."

"I haven't."

"I was waiting for you."

His brows creased like he didn't think I'd be mad. "I-I know but—"

"I made dinner... you couldn't have called?" It's all cold, now, the rest of it abandoned on the stovetop. Ben promised, when I left, that he'd put it away later and I was sure he meant in his stomach. Andria said that I needed to set boundaries and look where not taking that advice got me.

I wanted to have the conversation over dinner and he wouldn't pick up his phone. "Where were you all day?" Am I supposed to play these games with him?

Does he want me to worry about him? That doesn't matter, I worry despite it all. Even miles away, he still insists on more space.

It's infuriating.

"Your studio, or..." Where the fuck else would be beside the bar? He wasn't here if he was, he wouldn't have turned off his location, "home or—"

"What's the difference? I was painting. Working on that last piece for Mike, you know... It's right there if you can't tell." He's gulping back the end of his glass of wine.

He's ignoring me again, it feels deliberate.

My hand's around it in seconds. I'm tugging it from his fingertips, he barely resists, I choose to see even that as progress.

I place it on the bar, he follows, he steps back when I turn back to him, some dance of avoidance.

He's pointing at the piece, seconds too late. He shrugs, languidly walking away. He's turning towards his room and organizing some papers on the desk that sits in his entryway.

"I've been so worried about you." I insist.

His shrug is dismissive but there's a shake in his hands, I can see it.

"Okay?"

"Okay?" I'm taking the papers from him before I realize, placing them back on the desk, turned in, catching his eyes, in between him and the mirror. "That's all you have to say?" He's looking me in my eyes, he has to do that if he's going to brush me off.

"I can suck you off if that can fix it."

"I'm being serious."

It's like he doesn't hear me.

He's dipping a finger into my waistband, he's stepping closer and I can see the glint in his eyes. "Your eyes are glassy." They were, glossed over. It's worrying how quickly his sadness burrows in lust.

"Jules." It's a whine, one paired with kisses on the side of my neck. He's gliding cold fingers across my lower back, burying his face in my shoulder, and his shoulders drop.

His voice is quiet. "Please don't fight with me."

I'm trying not to be mad but there's fire in my chest.

"Jules-"

"I'm not playing this game."

"I- What game?"

It's been almost four years of knowing him and only now am I seeing everything.

All of him. He's not trying to but he has a tactic for when he wants me to stop talking about things. He always has ways to avoid confrontation - he's so charismatic, he hides behind that. He pushes everything off until I forget.

He kisses my neck to avoid confrontation. He brushes hair behind my ear, and kisses the corner of my lips, he asks me not to bring it up by sliding a leg between mine and tugging my shirt tight to my skin, sliding warm arms up my shirt.

I'm pushing him away, he steps back, this dejected look in his eyes.

"Baby-"

"The one where you pretend that you're not drinking... then touch me until I stop asking." I would be naked before I even thought to broach the subject and by then, I wouldn't be able to think straight enough to continue. He's good at everything, he knows that too. "I'm actually upset about something—"

"J-"

"I'm not stupid, PJ."

"I never said you were stupid."

"How long did you think you could keep me out?"

"I don't have to share everything that I do, Jules—"

"You're right. You don't owe me everything. But you can't just treat me like nothing after you begged me to give you my whole fuckin life—"

"Jules it's just so much." He sighs, it sounds like he's out of breath. "It's a lot."

"I know." He's gulping, I pay attention.

"You always make me feel bad about everything because you want people to do things your way. You won't even- you can't even let me be alone—"

"You can't just—" blame me for everything.

"I wouldn't feel so uncomfortable w- if it wasn..."

"... What?"

"I just don't want you t.." He's shaking his head, a crack in his voice, he's stepping away. I promised him effort, I didn't care how bad it could be. "Jules, just let me be alone."

I soften, give me anything, absolutely anything but avoidance.

He's quiet now, in place of a scream.

"I just feel like you're judging me, Jules. Always." He's judging himself.

My therapist said to stay away from that kind of language: you always do this, you make me feel like this.

I know him. He feels like he can't talk to me because the questions I have make him uncomfortable. He's never had to share more than what he's comfortable with.

I remembered the night of his cousin Alexa's wedding... how the champagne had loosened his lips and his heart, how honesty fell through. I think I saw exactly who he was that night, still slick in sweat, open to me, heart still tight around mine.

He sunk into my chest, let his guard down ... told me how afraid he was that everything he'd been through had permanently damaged his ability to feel things through and through. He's numb, he told me about how numb everything was before me. How he felt like he was acting.

I never realized how much alike we were.

He apologized for being blank... like he forgot that the year before he was pulling me out of bed on days that I wanted to die.

"I never judge you."

He laughs, it's painful. I soften, I love him.

He needed community, people who knew him and not only loved him but knew how to work with him. "I just don't know what to do when you won't talk to me."

I need to let it be, whatever fixes this."We can't just pretend that you don't know you're an alcoholic. You've been through this before, you know how it goes."

But he's rolling his eyes, he's put back up these defenses. I didn't think it could feel so cold between us."You're not even still mad about Izzy, I know you. You're just using it against me so you can guilt me into doing what you want-"

There it is. The ugly.

"I think we should go to therapy together-"

"I'm good."

"I really don't think that—"

"I didn't ask for your opinion though, Jules, that's what you're not getting! I don't need everyone's opinion on everything all the time. You just don't get that I don't want your fucking help on any of it—"

"—And you think that you can keep bringing up Izzy to what, shift blame from you planning on spending my exhibit with some fucking twink?"

That was the night before... Jules finds himself between the ropes after their fight, he finds himself taking the high road and inviting Paul in again, despite how angry he'd probably arrive.

IT'S MY PARTY, I CAN CRY IF I WANT TO.

About time.

Jules wonders how much of a fuss he'll have to make this time. Why doesn't anyone ever take him seriously? They've had this plan for a week, Paul asked for a few days to himself with the promise of dinner that following Thursday.

Jules offered to cook.

Dinner had been ready for an hour now, he even waited a half hour to start, accounting for the traffic. It was cold now, he found himself on the couch, empty plate as a companion.

Ben sits beside him, eyes trained on the tv, Modelo in hand. He's belching, empty plate stacked on a full belly, Jules laughs at the sight.

He reaches for the plate, sitting it on top of his and standing to return the plates to the kitchen. They're watching highlights for a Nuggets v Knicks game. It's been hours since he's checked his phone, it vibrates, and he hopes for Paul.

Wren: thank you for the invite :) I'll be by around 7.

He knows the anger might make him do something he'd regret, he knows he can't prove Paul right.

Jules had mentioned he would visit and Paul suddenly needed a week's worth of space, it's not fair.

Jules: ok.

It's not just Wren though, he can't let Pablo explain away his alcoholism with jealousy, this isn't about Wren at all.

He's been waiting for a week, he threw this party last minute and he's called all their friends in hopes that'll be enough.

Landon's here already, parked across the street, Rilee's been discussing highlights with Ben and talking about her older brother who played for UCONN.

He hasn't texted back.

wren: <3

Julian sighs, there's a knock at the door. He knows it's Paul by the way he knocks, maybe timidly, he can't tell. On Paul's side of the door, his heart is beating out his chest.

He can hear Rilee through the hall, her voice carries. She quiets down at the arrival.

-

There's this way he looks at me.

Like everything falls into place.

Even when he's distant, he shares that but right now, he's not looking in my eye.

He can't look in my eye.

"Hi." His voice was soft when I opened the door, it was paired with a smile and a hug.

He was holding a paper bag. Wren's on the way, I can tell by the second buzz of my phone, I knew it wouldn't take any time for him to leave his family where they were.

There's quiet, he doesn't notice Rilee, she lets that be for what it is.

Landon steps in through the ajar door. He's tall, always has been but he's thinner. He smiles softly when meeting Paul's eyes. "Hey, P."

I've never seen my love so quiet.

Landon steps forward and pulls Paul into a hug. He tugs off his jacket shortly after. I hang it, they'll stay for a bit.

He leads Paul to the couch, I can't do much but watch how they interact.

It's fifteen minutes later when he finds me in the kitchen, a little light in his eye.

He smiled again, slightly before grimacing. Looking down at his hands, he spoke to me, a bit softer. "I'm so sorry I'm late." He offered, it felt sincere enough. "I had to run errands, it took much longer than expected."

"Errands?"

I try to keep my voice down, it feels like he mocking me.

"Wren's on the way here."

"Of course he is."

"PJ-"

"I got you a gift, you should open it."

Still, I sit, I try to ignore this feeling, he looks nervous. He's massaging his hands out now, smiling again when I sit at the island barstool beside him. He pushes the bag my way. Joy Jewelers was monogrammed on the box, inside a white bag, a white bow wrapped around black packaging. Paul's eyes were wide, he watched it when my face changed.

It's a chain, a thick silver with a little opal pendant on it. I'm in love with it at first glance, I pick it up and it's heavier than expected.

Running my thumb over it, I can't help turning the stone over, "hbd my love," it's engraved on the back.

It's the most expensive thing I've ever received, the most beautiful too. The moment's overshadowed by lonely and the game still going on in the background, Ben's standing now, yelling out some profanities that make the man in front of me laugh.

I try to ignore it.

He's reaching for my beer beside himself, taking a swig.

Just that action is enough to let my anger bubble up.

"Are you serious?"

"It's just a beer. It's a party." He says it so casually, it stuns me. He turned his attention to the necklace in my hands so quickly it gives me whiplash. "You like it?"

I try not to argue, he's swigging it back again, shaky fingers turned stiff. He's calmer, I try not to judge. I know he'll use the lingering smell in here to even the playing field once the words turn cold.

I don't want that. I don't want to miss him again.

"It's gorgeous."

I try not to voice frustration.

"You're gorgeous." It's sweet as it always is, it's paired with bright eyes and nauseatingly minty breath. I don't force another smile.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I let my body fall into his. "I've literally been thinking about you all day."

The apologies are tumbling out before I even give the look, it almost feels like progress. He's giving me just enough to be satisfied while drinking in my face and it angers me. "Like, I'm sorry I've been gone... and, Jules, I'm sorry about our fight."

"Yeah."

"Jules-"

"It's fine."

It's shaky.

I'm offering peace again, knowing that's the only way to keep this door open. He smiles, and lovers lean in again, it feels like before. I try not to kiss him, I turn my head, and he speaks to my ear. "Amor, turn around, let me put it on you."

The question comes when he's taken the time to kiss the back of my neck, the movement a bit too close for the moment. I shiver, I try to sound sweet.

"What did you do today?"

"I went to the gallery... worked." I can feel him shrugging, he only shrugs when he lies.

The sound of the doorbell ringing snaps us out of it. I remember where we are... and that Wren's here quicker than I thought.

"The gallery that closes at four?" I'm moving towards the door, he reaches for my hand.

"For you, yeah, not when you're opening an exhibit."

Hm.

"I'm not lying," he tries again, "we have extended hours cause of the show." He's frowning. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be a big deal since you're stalking me, I figured you'd already know where I'm at."

"I'm not stalking you."

"It's a joke." He smiles softly, it's too small. "Please stop forcing a fight. I'm okay, honest."

Even if he means it, he's lying. I can see how low he is. Still, I nod. I shut it off for the rest of the night. A fake smile.

"You can breathalyze me, J."

"You think it's okay to drink-"

"Here." He's pushing my beer back into my hand. "It's all I've had."

Doorbell.

YOU BRING ME CLOSE

You wouldn't think that waking up his lover would fill him with anxiety but the reality of the day forced this feeling. A joint did enough to stop his skin from buzzing, and he swallowed hard.

Maybe another ten minutes.

He spent the morning nearly nauseated, despite the morning run, when he got back, he still felt dead on his feet. Isaiah's words about patience were ringing through and he started brewing coffee fifteen minutes ago. Jules wondered why it still felt like Isaiah and Paul's place.

A few prints hung on the wall beside a bay window. A plant on the sill.

Jules knew it was gonna be weird, honestly, he tried to prepare for it but that tiny hint of competition was crawling its way in. It felt like jealousy, he placed it as that.

There were canvases and a rack occupying space now. It would be a lie to say Jules hasn't found himself in this room a few times before. A month really feels like a million days with Paul, sometimes he breaks and walks away, sits on the sill, looks over the artwork his other half creates, and keeps checking for sadness.

Lays over the rug, and tries to meditate because he's starting to realize that everything's about finding balance.

He sits there for seconds before his fingers are tracing pieces on the drying rack, shelves far enough apart that he could see each individual canvas.

Jules remembers the red under the sleeping man's nails, the fact that all of the pieces in this room are muted tone does nothing but fuel his curiosity and he's opening Izzy's old window, sparking up a joint to distract from the nerves.

He's sat there for twenty minutes, eyes concentrated on this print that hung right across from him.

He's not sure what it is about the photo... or the few that hang beside it that makes his chest ache.

IT BRINGS YOU CLOSER

Light creeps in through an open window, a slight breeze, the sound of the rain tittering off a balcony above pelting onto his. PJ-Luis coughed, burying his face into the blankets.

His burp tastes like gin.

Jules isn't gonna forgive me, it's the first thought he has as he wakes up bleary-eyed. He remembers the night before, it's embarrassing as promised.

It's scary and familiar. He sits up, stubbornly, and immediately curls back into himself at the brightness of the room. He's hugging his knees to his chest, eyes screwed shut and suddenly he's crying.

He can't remember the last time he felt in control.

The point of his nose rubs up against his wrist gently, a droplet or two sliding down the bridge and landing on his foot.

It's silent, he's always cried so... politely. He won't allow himself more, he needs it.

It wracks through his body and settles in shivers. Pablo's resting his left cheek on his knees, he's staring at the door. He's trying to retrace how badly he's fucked up.

Most of his body needs Jules, all of it needs rest.

He's not alone, even if he feels that way.

Across the house, Julian paces through the other room, fingers brushing over lightly dusty surfaces. It's tidy enough with no bed, just a rug, an easel, and a paint mat. Canvas roll lay off to the side.

Photos line the walls alongside canvases, he's looking over Paul's pieces, finding little discrepancies and smoothing in the paint the same way his lover taught him.

He knows Paul's work, sees it with approval, and tries to ignore the energy of the space but Wren was really into reiki, he sees auras, and he tried to teach Jules a bit of it over the summer. He wouldn't call himself enlightened but he sees Izzy, and he's trying to forget their conversation.

There's noise in the living room, it's Jules. Paul hears voices, they're muffled, some music, white noise. The last week keeps him rooted to the bed, voices muffled through thin walls.

He's been hiding from the guilt of it all.

JULIAN

The way bad news always found its way into our bubble was short of comical. I was sitting on the couch, trying to muster up enough courage to wake him. Every bad thing we'd ever said to each other threatened to creep back in.

The last few nights building up to the exhibit were much quieter.

I tried not to feel ignored when he didn't bring it up the next day. It was as if the fight had never happened. He'd been avoiding me, that was much harder to do in this house together. Wren settled in at mine and I tried not to want to be there.

Maybe we should've taken the week. The argument was playing in my head again. I was trying to figure out a solution, so the next fight wouldn't be so volatile.

So "I'm not that weak."

So "You think you're fucking healed?"

His show is tomorrow.

Someone's knocking. Who would be at his place this early?

Knock, knock, kn— suddenly, It felt very 90s horror flick and I was already on edge. Paul was asleep, I hadn't had the chance to smoke a joint, and my skin still buzzed. It still felt like the solution was peeling it off with my fingernails.

I pried myself off the couch.

Sluggishly made my way to the door.

Peering through a peephole, my eyes locked on a man. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. He seemed nervous, and he was raising his fist to knock again.

The adamancy was pissing me off almost.

I opened it, his fist was cocked back, mid-knock, and we stood eye to eye. Dark brown hair curled just above his shoulders. Lighter brown eyes. He had a beard, some blue flannel, and a slim, tall build, it took me a moment to place him.

"Milo?" It had been years since I met him, and not by coincidence.

I remembered Paul's reaction to the time that had elapsed since they'd seen each other... and how he was quick to express his disdain for his brother. If it were up to my love, Milo Martinez probably wouldn't exist.

I wondered how their relationship changed, if it had, in the three years since that dinner blow-up. He wasn't at Alexa's wedding, he for sure wasn't at Christmas.

I watched Milo for a second, his eyes had trailed off, and he was looking past me but not really at anything. I turned for a moment, before meeting eyes with him.

Something wasn't right.

Martinez boys were engaging, they were charming.

He was extremely pretty, that was for certain. Bright eyes, his were hazel, his brothers' both opposing with dark brown. He had a beard this time, a bit longer than an inch and it felt so out of place on his face, he looked off.

Milo was clean-cut normally, with near-perfect posture, but now he seemed... slouched.

His eyes were wet at the edges, they held back any hostility I could've harbored from previous grievances. Milo looked... lost, he offered a tight smile.

"Hey... Jack?" I could tell he tried, there was a crease in his brow and when I bit my lip he frowned.

"Uh, Jules." Smile.

"Good to see you, man."

It felt genuine, I tried to reciprocate. "You too."

But he was standing in silence, he was rocking on his feet and looking around and something about it felt like he was just as on edge as I was. Anxiety seems to recognize itself.

"Milo?"

His hands were shaky, and then it felt like I knew. I knew in just that, in the whimper that tried to lace itself into his next question.

"W-where's- where's my brother?" I bit back my dread.

"He's asleep." It's eight. Just the thought of waking him up with bad news made my stomach hurt.

Milo nodded. Swallowed thick. Stood there for a second too long. I tried not to remember the last time I was in the same room with the both of them, he didn't seem to care for resolution then.

A visit now was cloaked in this antagonistic connotation, bad intentions, but his eyes fell short. He was avoiding my gaze, he wasn't all present, I could see it. His eyes were glassy.

"What are you doing here, Milo, are you okay?" He was wiping a hand over his mouth, eyes pinching together and he was turning his head to the side, he sighed. "Hey. Are you good?"

He coughed.

"Milo."

It was obvious now and he was trying not to cry. I could hear it. "I was gonna call but I didn't think that he should hear it over the phone if he was alone." He shrugged, "I'm sorry, I thought, um... I don't-I don't think he should hear it from me either."

He didn't have to say it. I could feel it when grief swallowed us both whole.

Slotted itself in between us and shut the door. I could feel it when he let go and he was crying now. He was wiping his face in seconds, in the same way, my love did.

Heart in his hands at his little brother's front door. He looked like a kid again, he looked like Pete.

All I could say was "I'm sorry." I could feel it in my chest, sadness snuck up to my throat, sealed it shut. I could feel grief plummeting through me, so suddenly. Milo barely cracked, I couldn't either. Tears welled in my eyes.

We stood there for a second.

Milo tried to form words, but pain seemed to stitch its way onto every syllable. "I don't even know why I'm here... I was worried when P-Pete said he couldn't get a hold of him. Mom said he really wasn't doing too good and he would-he would hate me if he knew that I — that he wasn't there because of me..."

He sucked in a breath again, this time tears fell over a flushed lightly-freckled face, he brushed them away.

It sounded like he was looking for an explanation, someone to blame. Bargaining.

When I first met him Milo felt so manipulative. His concern for his brother three years ago felt like it was only there to make him look bad.

This time it felt genuine.

He seemed angry, he took a second, and something shifted...

And he shook his head, "He's drinking again?"

I didn't know what to say.

I knew he was grieving, that was what stopped me from defending Paul.

Andria told me that I couldn't defend him anymore anyhow.

"He's that selfish?" Milo asked like he couldn't believe it. "I was thinking, on the way here, like how could he not have been there? She was dying, and he's in the will ten times over and can't show up to say goodbye? ... She's gone, she-she died last night and Mom is a fucking mess."

"Milo, I'm so sorry." but this really isn't the time. Is that awful, does that make me an awful person?

"I am so, so sorry for your loss." I thought of what I would want to hear. "Your grandmother was such a great person. It's okay to grieve that, I know she is at peace with how much love she rested in."

"You met her?"

"Last summer." For just a moment. I was drunk off champagne when this apple-faced lady waddled her way over to my love.

A floral dress, her hair pinned up, smile lines deeper than I'd ever seen, she held onto his arm when he greeted her and she kissed his cheek.

She patted his arm, the wedding ring modest but glimmering. She spoke in mostly Spanish.

It felt like she was three feet shorter but her eyes were so bright and cognizant and she reminded me of my grandmother.

She was soft-spoken, but you hung onto every word. She had thick grey hair and bright red lipstick that left a mark on my cheek when she pulled me down and thanked me for coming.

And making her grandson happy.

Pecas, she called me. She made me promise to marry him.

"At uh, at your cousin's wedding. Thought you'd be there?"

Honestly, we both did, I remember having to calm him down at the thought.

Milo shook his head.

"Not my cousin." That made a lot of sense, Alexa didn't even mention him.

"I-if you'd like to come in, you can." — But please don't say anything, is that evil? To ask him not to speak of it? "You guys should talk but-"

I really tried not to sound evil. "H-he's really not good enough to hear this right now... he's barely getting up now and I don't wanna..." break him.

"Um. Maybe you can come back... He has a- he has a gallery opening tomorrow." I tried to explain, tried to make sense of why his mother wouldn't have tried too hard to get in contact. "It's a big thing for him." He's already struggling, this would be too much.

I thought of the fact that I'd want to be told.

It's not at all what either of us would need, that reminder stopped me in my tracks. He had something really important and I couldn't let him fall apart.

It was on me to make sure he was okay, I told him too many times to just put this information on him 6 hours before he was recording an interview that could make or break his career.

"Oh," Milo's eyes flickered wider. "Wow."

Paul had taken a break from the public eye for so long, his brother almost looked... impressed. Milo seemed to think about it for a second and I could hear the song playing in the kitchen start to end. It's been three songs already.

"He's been working really hard. Tuesday it opens to the public."

"Cool." It's empty.

"You're welcome to come in."

Milo bit his lip, thought about it, and shook his head. "Oh, no, you're right... um."

"I'm so sorry, Milo—"

"Where's his show? Could you send me the..."

"Yeah, sure, of course." I was getting nervous now, Milo seemed to get the hint. He stepped back.

"Can you tell him I called?"

I nodded.

some people say I'm acting worse for wear

suffice to say this ain't a quaint affair

-

seventeen

-

PABLO

Wren was new.

I didn't expect him to be so...

I didn't expect him; I mean, how could I? Jules didn't really say anything about him.

The things he did say were good. The photos I'd seen of them were... not so good.

He was pretty. Feminine almost, long lashes framed big blue eyes.

I could give him that... He was pretty, beautiful, actually, he looked soft and willowy with a big smile.

It took over half his face. He had a dimple on his chin, leaning towards the side, he stood on his toes, "Dean! Hi."

Dean?

It was paired with a hug, the words were, Wren bit his lip. He was shoving his face into Jules' chest, my love let out a sigh of relief. I knew he was holding that for me. They collided.

He was wrapping his arms around him so swiftly, around his neck.

I watched it when Jules relaxed into the hug, his body dropped, almost. Then I saw when he realized he probably shouldn't. He put Wren at arm's length, the smaller man swaying with the motion. Light as a feather.

He looked dazed almost.

Framed by the open doorway... He looked like peter-pan, with pixie-pointed ears and an upturned nose slope. A diamond chin, and big doll eyes. Freckles were brushed all over his nose bridge. He was pretty, very pretty.

He wasn't trying too hard, an oversized graphic tee, it cropped and distressed at the waist and showing off a sliver of a taut abdomen. He looked bouncy and had a butterfly belly ring that same pool blue.

Low-rise jean shorts fell over his knees high socks and platform hightops in charcoal. He had a bag hung over his shoulder, it felt very California. I remembered stalking him on Instagram months before, he had style.

It almost looked like he was in Jules' clothes. Maybe Jules was interested in fashion now because of Wren.

I could see him in a jersey. I could see them together, it wasn't hard to picture. Wren was cute, it was clear that he knew it too and Jules loved confidence.

They were probably perfect for each other.

I think I avoided hyper-fixating on him before but now that he was right here, it shocked me just how different we were. He had cropped strawberry blonde curly hair, redder in the sun.

Rilee's pushing up against my side, her eyes mirror mine. She gets me.

The haircut did well in maturing a boyish face. A mole on his upper lip, this bright, infectious smile, little tattoos on his fingers, and stacked dainty jewelry.

Jules was looking at him. I swore it, I swore I saw him light up, he's been so angry with me.

I try not to get jealous of his wandering eyes, it feels like Ben feels the tension too cause he coughs. Despite the distance, it's like Wren's still in his arms, it feels like I'm imposing. He's letting his hands slide away, clearing his throat.

Wren's confused stance makes me swear Jules loves him. The way they look together does too, like they matched. Their outfits were pretty much the same blue. Jules was only just now crossing his arms.

I hold that thought back, I know it's the gin. He knows it's the gin too, and probably suspects my reaction, he's stepped back to repress it and Wren is smiling over at me as if he can't feel the tension in the air. I say nothing.

They're warm together.

I try to forget how I almost asked him to marry me in the bathtub a week ago. How romantic the hotel stay was, how I quickly ruined it and couldn't cope.

Jules says, "This is PJ and that's Ben." He's pressing his bicep to mine, smiling but doesn't move for my hand he's still much too angry for that. It's fake, all of it, but that greeting was real, and it makes me feel sick.

He's standing beside me, it helps. "Wren, this is Pablo."

It's my name, he knows my name it's clear with the way he's looking at me now. A big grin, one that could've melted off his face, he's looking at me with a mixture of emotions, I can't tell if he likes Jules.

He's still so calm.

I see myself in the way Wren nods.

"Is this your piece?" He's looking at me, pointing at the piece over the couch. It's something I'd painted for Jules in that first six months.

It's a piece he shouldn't have out in the living room, it's not compositionally sound. I hate it.

And it's sideways.

"Oh, my god hi, I didn't think I'd get to meet you before your show-" It's paired with a hug, I wonder if it's genuine. I try not to stiffen. "I'm sorry I'm a hugger." He's off me just as quick as he's on.

"It's fine."

"I'm Wren."

"We got that." That's Landon. His voice is deeper than before, more grit, he sings in baritone more these days. He smiles, Wren smiles back.

He's pretty.

Rilee's squeezing my arm.

He steps back and brushes a hand over his shoulder. It's feminine and delicate and pretty, the way he moves. He has an aura like he dances... like he's sure of himself and even with the tomboy outfit, I can see the belly ring again when he lifts up to hug me. He's wearing orange blush, and his ears are all pierced up in whimsy.

He's elegant with edge and I hate everything about it.

I hate how pretty that neckline looks on him, how clear and almost glimmery his skin looks.

I hate how Jules is looking at him.

It's weird, the tension, how he navigates it.

He's smiling at me.

Then at Rilee, "You're Rilee..."

At Lanny. "And you're Brandon."

"Lanny, actually."

"Yeah, you're my favorite." He bites his lip.

Turns to me.

"I-I-I am so happy we're meeting, uh, I was-I was actually really interested in... I've been wanting to buy one of your pieces. Jules showed me this set of prints you had and one stood out to me," he's talking too fast, I can't keep up. Maybe he's nervous too.

"I think it's a Joystar bike in bright yellow. It's on the side of this s-strawberry field or at least, it looks like that and I- I used to walk to school. I mean there's nothing really impressive to see in Indiana and I didn't really have a lot and there was- there was a bike in the window of this shop and I wanted it really bad in high school. It, it kinda spoke to me, so I was really hoping it would be one of the pieces that you're selling."

I remembered that piece and just how much I hated it at the time. I was trying hyperrealism and something about it still felt too contemporary... "That piece is actually from my sophomore collection for the College Board," wow.

I don't know what I expected from him but engaging in conversation probably wasn't.

He steps back from me slightly when he realizes I'm on edge, he's looking into my eyes, building a connection with my piece.

Can he tell we're fighting? Can he tell that two nights ago we were a screaming mess and I had to force my way back in here?

How he looked at me then felt intentional. "It's really nice to meet you, Wren." I smiled. "Um, it's cool to hear the connection you've built with it. It's crazy that people are even seeing my old work like that I uh... I sold the original a few years ago so..." he still seems engaged.

His smile has softened, he's waiting for me to talk again.

It's so weird how quickly my defenses fall. "I could show you the piece in digital later and we can probably-"

"Make a print?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, that would be great." He smiles again, tooth gem, that's what's making him glimmer like that.

"Okay." I can still feel Jules on my arm, that's what's making me calm. "There's a print shop on Makers. Uh, we could probably hit that up later. I don't know, we could talk about that?"

He nods. "I'm here for the week so just let me know." I shrug. "Maybe I can also get something original made?" It's followed by agreement and perplexity.

Did I just make plans with Wren?

"Ben." He turns.

"Wren."

"Cute." He's biting his lip again, head tilting, he's standing close enough that I can still smell his perfume, it's floral and faint, with a hint of something, I can't quite put my nose on it. He's staring into Ben. I swear I see a straight man's knees fight to go weak. "Guest room?"

"Yeah, I can show you."

"Thank you, this is such a big place, is this still Indiana?"

"It's like 15 miles to Illinois, a ferry to Chicago." Ben shrugs.

"You been on a ferry?"

Maneater.

It's hot how Ben lets him toy around. He's stepping closer to grab the bag Wren lugged in and dropped so absentmindedly. Wren reaches for it at the same time, brushing their hands.

Wren's smiling small, stepping back, standing on his toes, and still looking up at Benji through his lashes, hands behind his back. He's giggling, and Ben laughs. "Sorry."

I'm not sure who's leaning in as they talk but they're close. "I really appreciate that."

"Oh yeah, uh, no problem." Ben smiles, big at the praise. He looks confused but the interaction is so casual he doesn't notice.

Wren brushed his fingers over his, how they're three or four inches away... Wren's the one who backs up first, "Let me just get a few things so you can get comfortable?" He nods.

It reminds me of myself, the way Wren tilts his head and watches Ben walk away for a second. It's all so calculated.

He turns to look at us again, with the same wide, innocent eyes.

Jules is still smiling. I haven't seen him smile like this in weeks.

"He is so sexy."

Wren laughs, it feels like the words came from Jules even though I watched Wren stepping back. "I mean, like," his voice drops, "how do you live with him?" he whispers. "It's a miracle you haven't fucked."

Jules laughs, he reaches forward, he's grabbing Wren's shoulders, and turning him around. "Reminder that he's straight."

"Ernie's straight too." He laughs. "Ben's like... 82% straight... Bisexual at this point. He's military?"

"Wren."

"You know he came out, right?"

"Ernest?"

"As bi, well, to Danny, yeah." He smiled and then at Jules' look, he explained, "I used to work at this Japanese spot that they would come in to and I used to sleep with Ernie." "And we kinda hooked up again off Grindr and he kinda told me the lore..."

Ernest. Add that to the list.

"Anyways, Danny caught us fucking in your dorm and it was really awkward but now I think I have to make our situationship a friends with benefits sitch, Deanie."

"You like him."

"A little." "But, you know me, it's not really my gig." "Just so sad we couldn't possibly make this a foursome." He's wiggling his brows, he's staring at us both.

Jules laughs, Wren giggles so... I compensate.

He's glided back in the time it takes Jules to turn to me, he's standing where Ben was now about three feet away and the distance is so awkward. My love is placing his hand on my waist. "You guys look good together."

This is weird for me, I tried not to think of Brandon. I know Jules is thinking the same.

I know that smile on his face is threatening to drop, Wren's keeping it alive.

It's loud, it hangs in the air -ugly.

He steps out, and the room gets lighter.

Rilee's angry, I can feel it. "He's cute."

Yep.

"Frecks, a word?"

harvey, nobody knows what i see

everyone thinks I'm crazy...

crazy for you, oh, boy

barked at the mooon

Later that night, Rilee's taken the liberty of finding a movie. Lanny's draped between Ben and I in some weird bromantic scene. Wren's showing Jules some video on his phone, it's some guy they both know, he's over-energetic, and it sounds annoying.

I've been watching them talk for close to two hours now. Rilee offered to say something, there's less to be said. He owes me nothing.

Ben offered to roll a wood, Jules said yes, it's the only thing he's acknowledged on this side of the living room. Ben went to break down what they had in the table centerpiece, I sat in the kitchen, watching the beer in their fridge go unnoticed.

I grab two. I don't care when Jules stares me down as I walk back in, it hanging from my fingertips.

It's silent now.

It's been two hours of talk, and this is what takes his attention.

And I'm sitting beside Benji again, where I've been for two hours. I try not to blow up because he's still looking at me... with Wren pressed to his side on the loveseat. He's still looking at me, and Wren is just so enthralled in whatever they were watching, he's tiny and curled up beside Jules, his knees pressed into his chest, Jules' feet are rooted to the floor, arms wrapped around himself.

I wonder if he's as uncomfortable as I am. I've never been in a room with him and he's with someone else.

We never really broke up but he owed me nothing.

Even if I'm so in love with him that I could cry right here but I'd rather watch them fall in love than know that it happened behind my back, am I crazy for that?

Rilee's cutting her eyes at me every so often until she put on Scream III.

And I try not to care, I can see how anxious he is, he's watching Ben roll. He never really does that.

"Can you actually roll a paper, instead?"

"Wood's gonna make you anxious?" Jules nods. "I gotcha."

Ben looks back at his hands, I've drunk halfway down the neck of my Modelo. I take another sip.

"You should probably not do that, right?" He asks me when Jules looks away. Landon looks over and cuts eyes at me to enforce it. It's under his breath Ben wasn't ever hesitant to talk.

He's glancing at me with the paper pressed to his tongue. He's motioning to the beer, finished pearling and I tried not to shrug.

I haven't drank enough to not know I can't do more than one. It's half a beer. I've already weighed the pros and cons and how mad would he be if I had one beer.

I shouldn't, it's clear. Jules doesn't really seem to care, the first one's almost gone. There's a wine key on my keychain that Izzy gave me a while back. Landon's tucking his head into my shoulder. I see his leg tucked behind Ben's.

Ben sees it too.

At some point Rilee's stood, she's parking herself on the loveseat with them. She's turning, saying something to Jules with a straight face and he thinks... he says something back. He's standing.

I'm good. I'm home, and I'm safe and this is where I stop, it's just the take the edge off.

Church-key.

It's snatched from my hand before I finish. Jules is holding the beer now, standing in front of me joint in hand, he takes a puff and trades me. He sits beside me then, sandwiches me between him and Landon, and leaves Wren on the loveseat. Ben's standing, immediately stepping to the side and sitting on a different chair, one he reclines.

I nod, and I swallow back the taste, the anger is sudden and it scares me when he's sliding the beer to Wren.

He's looking over at Jules, I know he's connecting the dots.

I'm embarrassed.

And I'm second in rotation so it doesn't matter, the feeling's gone before it arrives. I watch the way Jules is with Wren, it's different.

He's softer, younger. It feels like high school. Rilee's said something to Wren cause he's quiet. He's looking at his hands.

He's talking about any and every and nothing all at once even with his arms wrapped around me.

I miss him.

everyone thinks I'm crazy

crazy for you, oh, boy

IZZY'S SERIES - ASPHYXIA

He brushes a finger over the door before pushing it open, a bit of resistance comes from a pair of jeans in the walkway.

Eyes flit over a bare back, a mole on his shoulder blade, bamboo. PJ Luis is turning only slightly at the intrusion.

Jules steps over a pile of clothes and heads to the window, opening the curtains with no second thought.

"Get up." It's in a clipped tone.

He's hiding from the sunlight that spilled in under the archway of his own respective bay window. Jules wonders about the property value.

The light reflects off a Grecian-inspired spiral mirror mounted over his desk and easel. A kaleidoscope on white sheets, Jules doesn't take time to appreciate it before reaching up to take the pillow off Paul's face.

"Dude."

Jules' arms are crossed over his chest, this look in his eyes that his teammates knew.

He tries to forget any anger and tries to be supportive. Jules remembers the advice he's been given, addiction doesn't leave space for pity.

"Get up."

"Go away."

That same canvas he's been working on is sitting by the desk, some half-circle painted over it that didn't feel much like him.

"PJ." Instead of sitting up, PJ croaks out a lackluster response and buries himself in the sheets again, the fabric cool and soothing against flushed skin. His head's pulsing and Jules doesn't seem to care.

"You can't afford to sleep in, your show is tomorrow. I don't have time to force you out of bed, I've been taking your calls since nine so you have to go take a shower. We have like fifteen things to do today."

Clothes are everywhere, three or four coffee cups sit on the dresser, and one's spilled over. Jules rights this as best as he can, he picks up clothes that are strewn haphazardly. He sighs heavily when his hand grazes a shirt nearly covered in vomit.

And then he's angry again. He suppresses it.

He knows this is just gonna be a series of deciding when it's worth the blowup.

"Mike's called twice. You're expected for lunch with some French people that flew in for the show apparently it's a really big deal. And then Cleo has you and Benny set up for a press junket. Get up, Gwenyth Paltrow literally tweeted your name."

"What?"

"Yeah, apparently she's coming to the show." He shrugged. "Tweeted something about starting every day with bone marrow and the gallery name, you're all tagged."

Paul's sitting up, he blinks with dry eyes. His eyes feel heavy and irritated. He groans when the contact lens scrapes against his lid so uncomfortably and he reaches into the side drawer for eye drops.

He slept with contacts in and now it hurts to even open his eyes, Jules doesn't seem to care.

No, the aforementioned man is too busy rummaging in the closet now.

Jackets, so many jackets... an assortment of dress pants, and some button-ups, Jules pulls out a mid-wash pair of Levis and a cream sweater with a scholarly v-neck and crest. He grabs for Pablo's loafers.

"Interview?" Was grumbled from the bed, Jules turning to watch Paul drop solution into his eyes. He's trying to remove his contacts.

"With Variety. Dana Cory, one of their junior writers, she's an SAIC alum, I guess she heard about your show.

Paul nods, doesn't respond, just kicks his legs out from under the blanket, and yawns. He's resting his head in his hands as Jules tosses the clothes on the bed beside him. "Shower, you smell."

He doesn't have the energy to get his lover a glass of water even, the attitude is warranted and actually, not quite severe enough for the circumstances so when Paul lets out a noise. It's grumbled with that wide-eyed stare, it doesn't take much for Jules to brush it off.

He's still so angry, he doesn't know what to do with it.

"You cut your hair."

It's new. Butch, something he hasn't seen on Jules in a while, it's paired with an oversized collared tee, some cargo shorts, and a rosary.

Paul's reaching for the younger man now, hands on his elbows, trying to tug him in but his lover steps back. He's looking into his eyes only, doesn't give another glance when he stands straight.

"You have to get up, we have a packed day."

"Jules..." I'm sorry about... the last six months?

"You remember that you invited the guys last night? I didn't remember until Ben called. They were gonna come by after your press events but I wasn't sure if it would help. It might be a good way to practice talking about your work."

Paul shook his head.

"Thank you for helping me." He tried to ignore the dry mouth. Sat up fully, watching Jules bend over the desk, crick his neck to look at the schedule he'd messily sprawled. He bit low on pale, nails, freckled fingers hanging from a perfect mouth.

He pushed the hair behind his ear and pressed his hand into his throat so quickly before picking up the journal and turning to lean on the desk. His hip jutted, he was busying himself to give Pablo space to be sick.

But Pablo-Luis sat entranced, didn't feel the urge to puke up the night's liquor, he'd always had a good handle on that.

There's still a bucket on the floor beside his bed, the most minimal effort the younger man could spare.

When Paul looks up, they lock eyes for just a moment. Jules finishes what he's writing out in just a second, steps forward, and hands forward the journal with my schedule laid out.

"I just don't want you to have to be stressed about today."

It's kind .

Paul nods, slides to the edge of the bed, runs a shaken hand over the notes, and suddenly he's fifteen again in the guest room of the Ross family home... pistol in Brandon's hand, safety on... it's on the dresser. Paul's hands are covered in guilt, his prints on the trigger.

His chest closes up, he's filled with so much embarrassment it bubbles up his throat and chokes him. He's sobbing, he remembers that feeling so plainly. He remembers the words he's said to Jules, the stuff internet trolls said to him... you're so fucking weak.

He remembers, Jules does too, it fills him with that same anxiety. "Jules, I'm sor-"

He's walking away, and finds the kitchen to be a safer place.

A few minutes go by, a warm shower starts up, and Jules plays Mr. Magic over vinyl.

"Jules, I'm sorry—"

"I don't care."