[Substance by Demi Lovato]
THIRTEEN:: when things near normal.

                 "You should get the blue ones."

                 He was looking at a pair of Nike dunks, that concentrated crease between his brows. A soft blue shoe sat next to this darker tan one and he was having trouble deciding which one to get.

                 I remembered the air maxes in my closet, the tan ones... he bought all my sneakers, I think he forgot those and they looked kinda similar.

He could wear them, I wasn't. He was wearing these shorts, though these tiny fucking shorts... black and just tight enough and they hit mid-thigh and with all the gym and the hiking, his legs were so defined. Thick arms, a baggy tee with some weird print on the back and a smile. There was a hoop in his nose and a sloppy bun in his hair and—

                  I wanted his hair in my hands again, wanted to tug a moan from him and seal it into me. He was still biting his lips, and they were blushed nearly bruised from the way he'd kissed me in the car. I was still floating low-lidded and he had his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his toes.

                  We chose the mall for suit shopping.

His dad was likely getting married soon, it was mid-March. Pollen was thick, and his house was swimming in floral arrangement mags, Jules - catty as ever- mentioned how Andria was wearing more white.

The statement was paired with wide eyes and a fake smile.

                   Julian's eyes were electric, though. Despite lingering resentment, you could tell there was excitement. After grabbing the suit at a boutique out front, he said he earned a pair of shoes. And honestly he was absolutely right, I'd buy them myself.

Finish Line didn't peak his interest, and he darted those green eyes around, lost. Nipping his bottom lip, he made eye contact with me.

I didn't care much for shoes but he seemed so eager. And he offered a pout for just a second.

Just a second and I was trailing him around like a lost puppy.

                  An associate walked by, she'd been lingering for a minute or two, and Jules smiled. It was soft and it set my chest on fire.

                  She raised her brows, offering another small smile when he held up the baby blue shoe.

                "Can I uh- get these in a-an 11?"

                   It was accompanied by a shaky smile and the girl simply nodded. She grabbed the box, Jules turning to me with his eyes blown wide and the faint, woodsy smell of his cologne wafted over me.

                 "Good job." I offered, trying not to get lost in the scent. Julian didn't seem to notice.

                 "Thank you, actually." He went to sit, "I almost cried."

                                 I fought a smile.

                  "What? Why?"

                   He shivered. "Customer service... biiiig anxiety." He pointed at himself, "always anxious." The way he looked over at me, so calm, I could tell he didn't see the difference as much as I did. He looked... himself, again.

                    That was always a tricky way of phrasing things, he often took issue with the separation of his depression and himself, because he felt like that was what he had to offer. Depression was something he'd put on the table in every personal relationship for the rest of his life, he was sure.

                   But, I'd seen recovery. This was recovery. He made me want to be better, he seemed better. Really better.

                    "What are you a chihuahua?"

       Jules' leg halted from 100 miles per minute, with that, his body stopped vibrating... "well...actually no," a laugh spilled. God, those lips.. "More like an Aussie."

That was... accurate. "I see it."

I had a hard time picturing a dog for myself and Jules knitted his brows together, and shook his head. "You're like a... cat." That was also... very accurate.

I was with him until he tacked on, "kitten."
It was paired with those big bug eyes.

"I'm 6'2."

Jules rolled his eyes. "You're 6-foot."

"You're 5'10."

"5'11 and literally like—" 3/4, "almost 6'foot."

I knew he was gonna say something like that though, it was obvious with the amused smile on his face. "I don't mind looking down." I laughed, patting the top of his head. "Mi pequeño amor."

He threw me that unimpressed look and I suddenly overthought the affection. "You can't complain, you've never been forced to work retail."

                  "Hey! Ivan's Italian Restaurant was way worse." I doubted that. I'd been on both sides of the coin, the money while serving almost made the customer interactions worth it. And he didn't have to consistently watch customers throw garments on the floor, reorganizing the same rack four times... for minimum wage.

                  "Ivan's? Isn't that... not an Italian name?"

                    Jules shrugged again. "Sounds not Italian... but it was the only restaurant on campus and I worked there a week."

                     "The dedication." Julian was pushing me to the side before I realized. He offered a smile then, going to untie his shoe as the sales associate made her way to us. "Italian actually sounds good... Wanna get pasta or something and head back?"

                      He nodded.

                      We sat in silence for a few minutes then he was grabbing for a new shoe box. "Thank you."

                     He was untying the right shoe, pulling at the strings to pull out the filling, his bracelet jingling, two charms on it, one of them a soccer ball. Under the bracelet, my eyes caught a new little addition. He had ocean waves in a rectangular frame tatted on his wrist.

                       Jules smiled over at me, bending to try the shoe on and I wondered what he was thinking about.

                      It was silent for a second as he slipped his foot in, and he bit his lip when he finished, his eyes barely met mine and only for a second then he was shrugging.

                      "We don't have to talk about last week, right?" That was him again, after too long a beat of silence. He was looking over the shoe tied on his foot, standing to rate comfortability. He walked a little and turned to look at the shoe in the mirror next to us.

                      I shrugged, "not if you don't want to."

"I mean, I don't think we need to but I wanted to."

"I loved it." I shrugged again.

He nodded. "Me too."

                     "Okay."

                     I didn't wanna pressure him but that night still ran through my head on repeat.

                      Fear settled in me when I remembered the promises I made. I tried though, like Hell.

                      Are we back together? I know he wanted to ask, I wanted to ask. It was too soon and I'd scare him away. The roles had reversed, Jules was holding me at an arms length emotionally. Even sober, under strobe lights, I couldn't find it in me to deny him and those electric eyes.

He told me not to pressure myself.

"I've missed you." I offered, his smile softened.

"Me too." He coughed. "Noni's has comedy night tonight too, I think it starts at like 9?"

Comedy clubs were his thing now? I could see that.

                        "Yeah— yeah, we could do that."

                         "Cool."

JULIAN

                       It was silent entering his apartment. At first glance, sliding through an open door felt slightly scarier than need be. It had been days since that day at the mall and Paul seemed to withdraw himself completely. He said he was sick, that morning after... some sinus thing, and we cancelled our plans for the rest of the week.

                       My texts were met with very slow response and he wouldn't answer the phone... I assumed he'd been sleeping when I called but I texted him twenty minutes ago and asked if he was free and he said he'd be home. I wasn't sure where else he'd be with a migraine. I mean, he said he didn't really feel like going anywhere... and I didn't really ask if I could stop by and maybe he didn't really owe me anything but whatever we were doing definitely included him coming to mine four times a week.

                        And showing up whenever he felt. I could go to his. We were in some weird limbo and something was freeing about not having so much responsibility to each other despite the fact that we... still had it.

                     Maybe succumbing to it proved too much when it resulted in three or four days of favors followed by a dry spell... not even a kiss followed and it'd been like this for two weeks.

                      I liked the spontaneity, it was new for us. We were trying not to put too much pressure on it and... I liked the kissing. I liked touching him.

                     Without it, I was realizing I felt less self-conscious than I thought I would.

I didn't ask why, I knew he would pull away after so much affection. He'd told me that night, as I was coming down post-orgasm... he was immediately grabbing for his shirt, and he pulled me up when my nose buried deep in his groin, hands carded through my hair and looked me in the eye.

    "I can wait." I don't know what I expected but it wasn't that.

                           He was looking at me again. He had love spilling over. I wondered why he offered this, why he felt like neglecting himself was a way to show me his affection.

                         "I wanted to make you cum.
                            That was the point." Fuck.

                   Love found home in his eyes and all of a sudden this thing we were doing felt possible again... maybe it wouldn't end in heartache. He was stroking his thumb over my swollen lips with a smile and I tried not to succumb to the sentiment.

                     I pressed my next words into his fingertips, kissing them after. Pablo's bottom lip wedged behind a canine. And he looked so blushed, so pretty and put together, I wanted him a mess. "I wanna touch you."

                       "Jules—"

                        "Can I touch you?"

His eyes were low-lidded and Pablo-Luis was melting into me once again. "Papi, you don't..." but he lifted his hips when I went to pull his pants down. Spanish blurred together, a curse spilled from his lips.

                        "I want you to fuck my mouth."

      "Jules, just-" he was raising his hips again, begging for it, "you don't have to do this."

                         "I want to. I wanna make you feel good too."

                         "Just being here makes me feel good."

                          "But I could..." and I was kissing his bulge. I was sinking my fingertips into the tanned, supple skin on his thighs and I tried not to push him too hard. But I could feel it, I could feel how much he wanted this and his eyes glazed over. "Please?"

                          His voice was rough, low, and so was his gaze. He smirked at the look I'd given him and laughed almost as if he knew it were no use. Paul nodded. "Just touch me, baby."

                         Lust lingered.

                         And it played over and over in the back of my head. The visuals, the look of his head thrown back, and I was straining to catch a glimpse. He swore, watching me, so lost in it he offered no warning when he stood. And after a few minutes, he fucking into my throat. "Wider, love."

                          "Fuck, Angel." Just that alone was enough but my love was always so verbal. "Open up for me." I could feel tears when he guided the back of my neck. I watched his awed expression through blurry eyes and Pablo was pulling out to kiss me.

                            Slow and sloppy and so fucking sexy. I could feel spit on my chest, all over my face, I saw how wet his lips were.

                           Maybe the sight of me was what made him kiss me again, tossing me on the bed in seconds. Pablo was face deep in my ass before I could thank him.

"You're so pretty on your knees, Angel."
-

                         That was eight days ago. Eight days ago and his ex-roommate / ex-boyfriend was now bent over in front of me. And through my... understanding, I found myself seething.

                      Izzy was taping a box shut and all I could do was cough awkwardly, wondering why he had to be there when Paul said he'd be at home all day.

   The 6'5 man adjusted, standing to his full height and I tried not to feel smug. He had cut his hair almost completely off and he just wasn't as tall. I could look him in his eyes... before, he'd had at least twenty pounds on me, now my arms were nearly as big, even if it wasn't as defined muscle at rest, I knew it was there.

There was a weird sense of approval that swarmed the air around us. I could see the slight appreciation in his double take of me and he was stepping closer. At least Paul had taste. My stomach felt hot, a twinge of competition arose. I fought a smirk.

              He was looking in my eyes then, challenging, stepping up to me. As if we could get any closer.

Isaiah raised a brow. "Knock much?"

Shrug. "Thought you moved out."

I was fighting the anger that wanted to raise. He was breathing out an amused breath, backing up then crouching to grab the box he was closing off. He walked past me to the door and sat the box on their welcome mat.

"I did."

                         Okay, then why are you here?
                      "You been hitting the gym? Looks good on you."

"Why are you here?" Maybe he didn't understand what me being here and him... not, meant. And I was starting to understand Paul's adamancy that they weren't actually together.

"Why are you?" As if to challenge me again, he laughed, offering a condescending: "You need somethin' or..."

"Oh, my bad...I shouldn't have assumed that moved out meant you were... moved out." Isaiah's look at that felt almost, impressed.

                           "I'm moving out." He shrugged.

            And then, "It still my apartment. The lease is in my name not his." Realization seemed to strike. "That's how he does it."

"What?"

He shrugged again and if I didn't know their history, I would've believed he was as unbothered as he seemed. "He lies. Paul doesn't mind, he actually asked me to stay until I find something permanent." Are you fucking for real?

                       He had to be fucking with me... how dare Paul ask if we were back together knowing he was still living with his rebound? Did he think I was that stupid? Isaiah just nodded, wide-eyed like it hit him the same way. "You guys are back together. I... saw that coming."

"Uh huh."

"Don't worry, I don't wan't him back, Julian." He laughed. "You can have him. I have a lot going on and I can't do complicated. Maybe you can multitask to that degree but I'm good."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're a good guy." He shrugged, he offered a look like he knew me so well. "You're raw, people take advantage of your kindness and forgiveness when you let them." What the fuck would he even base that on? The millions of interactions we didn't have?

"Is there a point here?"

Isaiah sighed, and it was heavy. He looked at me then, directly in the eye. "Paul..." he shrugged, "he's not like that, h-he's kind, he's a good person but this disease, it changes you, you don't care about people the way that you're supposed to."

"You ever think maybe he just wasn't that into you?"

He snorted. "He's an Aries, so..."

The joke didn't land. Upon realizing the lack of amusement, Isaiah was frowning.

"I know I'm a lot. But he is too."

"And I'm worried about him." He continued. "I haven't seen him and I've been here since 2."

"He's withdrawing himself from people, has been for months." He spoke, "he's reserved and irritable a-and I know he's not normally like that." He motioned around the apartment. "This is all my stuff, our stuff that we bought together. We were in love, and i-it's over because he changed his mind."

"You give what you can, you tell him everything, all your trauma, everything... and he tells you nothing but he makes you feel safe, he takes, and then he leaves."

Fuck.

"He's not a bad person but he's an addict, Jules." His eyes were so sincere but he didn't know Paul, not really. He might've been right about a few things but that didn't mean he knew how it would end. "And when things are good, he can make you feel like you're on the moon but then—" scratch! Isaiah was ripping duct-tape from the roll.

I could feel myself visibly flinch.

"He loved me, well, and then that just changed overnight. Even if he wasn't actually in love with me, it felt like he was." Now, I couldn't take him seriously. Even when Paul and I slept together that first night back... when Isaiah was still under the same roof, when we'd ended up face to face, he maintained that they weren't together.

"He didn't love you, Izzy."

"He told you that?" He looked at me in disbelief, "he told me he loved me that night. Sobbing, drunk an-and begging me to love him back. Does that sound familiar?"

"You don't know anything about us." I wasn't sure why I felt so defensive but I knew there was a chance he was right. "You're just jealous. And-and you're trying to freak me out for what—"

"I'm not trying to freak you out." Isaiah didn't seem fazed by that: "But he was so ethereal when I met him." He admitted. "And I didn't realize everything that had happened to him."

"...I didn't know he had a trigger. And he's angry at me," and he just looked so, defeated... so desperate for someone to hear him out that he didn't realize how wildly inappropriate this was.  "And I need to talk to you cause you've loved him... so could we have a conversation at least?"

"Isn't that what you're already doing?" Guilting me into hearing you out? "Forcing a conversation."

                      Isaiah looked like he had a moment of clarity and really that was the only reason I listened. He motioned to the couch, i instead moved for the leather chair next to it. It wasn't necessary to be so close.

Hazel eyes were softer when he sat down on his couch. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at confrontation, my ex was very very adamant about that."

                   Why are we talking about your ex? "Do you have a point here?"

"I wanted to meet you." Isaiah offered.
"The way he talked about you." He shrugged.

"So you just force weird conversations like this all the time?"

"You remind me of Colin." He looked me in my eyes. His were bloodshot, like he'd held back tears so close they dried up.

"Who's Colin?"

He didn't seem to want it to slip. His face was white as a ghost and maybe he was opening up a bit more than he intended but Isaiah had guts.

"My ex." Isaiah smiled but it was hollow... he seemed lost.

                     "I'm confused."

                     "I-um- I am too. You just, you look like him, so." He shrugged with a sad smile, it shook. "I didn't realize how much you looked like him."

                     "What happened?"

                    He didn't look like he wanted to tell me. I wondered if he told Paul. What? I just wanted to binge watch Marvel movies with my sick boyfriend... I didn't mean to get myself into this position. My man's boy toy is telling me all his fucking trauma.

                    "He moved to Morocco and killed himself."

                    God.

                    "I'm so sorry." My throat closed up.

                   Isaiah's eyes were so sad, his voice was hoarse.

                   We sat in silence and he wiped his sleeve under his nose, he was crossing his legs then, closing himself off. I wondered how many people he had told that.

                    "Me too."

                    I sat there for a moment.
                    Tried to think of what I'd want someone to ask me.
                    Thought of what curtesy I'd want for Paul.
                    "What was he like?"

                    Isaiah cried then, really cried. His lip quivered, tears.
                    A howling, painful gasp. "Perfect."

"Paul's the first feeling I've had after him."

         His voice was small, sniffly. He was turning his gaze away from me, hiding in plain sight. His eyes locked onto the corner of the room fifteen minutes ago and he hadn't resurfaced.

"I'm sorry."

"People die, we cope."

My stomach was hot; it sunk. My through was dry and I felt so cornered all of a sudden.

                       "I loved him and it wasn't enough. Sometimes we don't see the signs until it's too late." He gulped. "I don't want that to happen to Paul."

"It's not his fault, he-he doesn't realize the whiplash when he pulls away but then he comes back after you can't breathe a-and does he fuck with everyone's head like that?"

                    I didn't have an answer. I didn't but I thought of how easy it was to assume him and Brandon were in love. I thought of the way he treated me a week after meeting me.

"We didn't talk much... and I-I didn't say no. He didn't seem on edge. I promise... I was worried that he would leave me again if I said too much so-so I said nothing. He was fucking someone else, we'd been cold all week and then kissed me at the club."

"And then he held my hand all night and he kissed me before going to bed and then he came back to me, I thought he slept
it off... and, he told me that he — he told me he loved me."

"No one's said that to me but Colin."

"I didn't know how drunk he was..."

"... I thought he was embarrassed that he confessed that and it was midterms so I didn't talk to him when he started getting distant. I thought he was just afraid to have to look at me after lying to me, I thought he didn't wanna break my heart..."

"Why are you telling me any of this?"

                     It was silent.

                    "Colin was addicted to opiates." He shook his head. "I can't believe that I didn't see it."

                  "You need to be all in. You can't be that strong without breaking at some point."

                  "I know this is weird but, he needs real help. He needs rehab or something stronger and he has to fight like hell to stop, so if you love him, don't let him do it alone."

                    It was silent. And Izzy packed another box before stopping in front of me and he smiled, nodding. He was walking this box to the door as well. "I should be out soon. I barely sleep here."

                      "Okay."

                    And he nodded. "I really do hope it works out between you guys."

Me too. "Thanks."

                    He offered a smile, it close-lipped and sad and Isaiah went to leave. Maybe the fact that he didn't seem to be uneasy with leaving me alone in his- their - home was enough to offer me comfort. I was looking over the walls again, how empty they seemed without Isaiah's work.

                    How obvious it was that they shared a life together. I felt for him. My love was charismatic, he was so easy to fall in love with. Paul led with his heart, always. It wasn't hard to believe that he would give Isaiah a piece of it. How was I supposed to unpack anything Isaiah said?

Paul didn't talk... and now I was in the position of knowing so much.

                    "Can I give you some advice?" I don't know why I nodded. He seemed like he had good intentions. Isaiah looked like he didn't wanna say it at first but then he did... and my heart sunk because I saw it coming.

"Stop treating him with kid gloves."

: : :

              "Hey." I wasn't sure why I felt nervous when I called him... and it rang, and it rang.

                Just when I thought he wouldn't pick up. "Hi, Juju." Pablo's voice rang through the phone, so sweet and bright and it felt like everything he told me before was a lie. He didn't seem sick at all, did he forget that he was supposed to have a migraine?

               "Where are you?"

                "Um... home?" He answered with a laugh. "Why, you wanna come over?"

                 "Are you drunk?"

                   It was silent for a second and then his voice was back. "On cough syrup." His voice was hard for a second, and I almost understood... it felt like me, when he asked about my meds. Still, he spoke gently to me. "I'm all DayQuil'd out. My headache turned into a sinus thing." You already said that.

                      "I just left your place."

                       I'd been home for twenty minutes, he wasn't home 40 minutes prior... and wherever he was wasn't coincidentally so close that he wouldn't have shown up when I was talking to Isaiah. There was no way he wasn't lying about something.

                 "I'm sorry I didn't hear the door. I just- uh- I just got out the shower, so." I heard him shuffling. "Hold on."

                  And he was facetiming me with proof of wet hair and a shirtless torso. Pablo smiled, soft. "Hi, baby."

                  His eyes were normal... "You look cute."

                  I was in a crewneck with messy hair. I looked the same as I always did. "You been home all day?" I asked, and I watched his brows scrunch. Isaiah weighed heavy on my heart. I remembered my suicide notes.

                   "I mean I went to Target, but, pretty much."

                   "You're lying."

                     He seemed confused. "What?"

                     "I trust you so please don't keep things from me." The look he gave me then begged the question. "I spoke to Isaiah."

                      At that, he bit his lip. And I couldn't decipher the look behind anger. "Why?"

                     "I went to your place," the look he gave me after that was knowing. He could tell how hurt I was, that I was holding back because whatever we were didn't allot me space for questions...

                      It wasn't right that he'd start this again with me while still living with his rebound and he knew it too. "He was getting some stuff, said he hadn't seen you...He's still staying with you?"

                      Recollection. He was quiet for a second. His voice was small, "Juju."

                       "You're spending all this time with me and didn't think to mention that you live with your ex?" I wasn't mad. I wasn't trying to be mad. I could see how broken Izzy was, he didn't need to lose his home and his... whatever he had with my boyfriend at the same time.

"He's not my ex." Yeah, I was being kind.

"Rebound is worse."

                      Silence.
                      He didn't try to avoid it though, he didn't close himself off, that was progress. "We're both on the lease. He's kinda staying with this guy he's seeing... the lease is up in a month and I don't even know if I'm gonna renew, it doesn't feel right to ask him to leave. "

                          I didn't understand but it was so in-character for him to spare Izzy's feelings... even despite the hurt that lay between.

                         He loves me more, I can hear it. The guilt and the sorrow and the gentleness where there could've been defensiveness. He was patient with me. Isaiah said he seemed harsh, he had never been harsh with me. Instead, he rushed out an, "I'm sorry that I worried you." Suddenly, I felt guilty for accusing him.

                        Isaiah didn't seem to want to be in this anymore. I tried not to create problems where they were assumed fixed. Paul loves me. He was there for Isaiah when they both needed it but I'm back now and I'm not losing him again. The voice in the back of my head still screamed guilty.

                       Who was I to steal from a man who lost everything?

                           "I'm gonna pick up Chinese? And then-then I can come over?"

                         He smiled then, it so full. His eyes lit up and he nodded, tilting his head and then for a moment, he was just looking at me. I'd never been so sure he loved me more. "Yeah, I'd like that."

: : :

                  Paul was in one of my Santa Barbara sweatshirts, some tiny shorts that showed off his thigh tattoos and scrunched socks with mushrooms on them when he answered the door that night... almost immediately upon seeing me, his smile spread.

                  He looked so soft then, so small and so sweet and I felt my heart warm in my chest when I remembered the wall he used to put up. He was so open with me.

                  And he was launching himself into my arms as if we hadn't seen each other in weeks, nearly knocking the brown bag out of my hand. I held tighter to the food, one arm twining completely around his waist and hugged his body to me. He smelled like sea-salt and vanilla candles.

       God, I missed that... I mean, it had been a week almost. In seconds, he was pulling back, arms still around my waist eyes dilated. He grabbed my face in warm hands and kissed me so softly.

"Mm."

                  He was backing up after, lacing our fingers together and tugging me along as I pushed the door shut and right when I went to sit the bag on the counter, he disappeared into the kitchen. I heard rummaging as I made myself home at the counter, watching him through the bar window.

         Pulling two bowls out of his cabinet, he tugged open the junk drawer beside the sink.

                "You feeling better ?" I called and after a moment, he slid two bowls and packaged chopsticks across the bar.

         "Yeah, now that you're here." He was grabbing two wine glasses now and some fruit juice from the fridge. He sat a glass in front of me as I emptied half the  chow mein into his bowl, the other half in mine and snapping open my chop sticks for the dim sum. Paul was pouring when he looked up at me. And he looked so much like that boy I fell in love with.

"Wanna watch a movie?"

                 I nodded. "Spider-Man 2. Andrew Garfield me, please."

                  " You really do have a type." He laughed. "I didn't think Wren was it, honestly."

                     And I wasn't sure when it became normal to talk about other guys together but I shrugged.

                     "Wren was an exception."

                      "I see why." What? "He's kinda hot... in a twinky, bratty, bossy kinda way." Pablo offered and I wasn't so sure how to take it.

                      "He's... actually exactly like that." That was so uncanny.

                      Paul smirked. And he was pouring soy sauce over his food. "Does he wear lace too? Call you daddy?" Was it that obvious? Did I seem kinky?

"Paul!"

                       He just laughed, shrugging and picking a shrimp dumpling off my plate. "You fucked him." He shrugged, plopping it in his mouth and offering a pouty lip and babydoll eyes. When I offered my best unimpressed look, he smirked. And through a full chipmunk cheek, he giggled only slightly. "Must've been into it... He's cute, you have good taste."

                        Where was this coming from? This new... flirting(?) thing he was doing? Was he trying to make me jealous?

                      I didn't have time to entertain that thought because something heavier weighed on me. I'd thought about it during the time it took to get dressed... during the car ride and I definitely sat in my car for a good twenty minutes overthinking in his parking garage.

                       "Can we talk?"

                       Maybe that question held too much weight because he frowned and he looked down into his bowl. "About?"

                        "Isaiah." The fact that you love him.

                         That made him look at me. I didn't know what that look meant but it was filled with a frown. "Jules, come on."

                         "He was a big part of your life and, and it was through your relapse so y-you need to talk about him." He wasn't gonna get over him if he didn't talk about him and I didn't think I could handle the lingering feelings... "You can talk to me."

                          "I know... I just don't wanna talk about him, okay?" But he was biting at his lip, he was shuffling and pushing his food around. I recognized the nervousness and my heart hurt.

                         "I know it's hard, but I don't want another year of silence." But I didn't know how okay I'd be with the answer, if I was okay with watching Paul love someone else. I couldn't be judgmental.

                          But I was back now. And we were back together, somewhat. "W-we need to talk about things if this is gonna work."

                      "I know, but-"

                     "It's not like I'm gonna be mad at you." I reminded.

                      We had closure. We were on the same page. We fought so hard for open communication and this couldn't be a point of contention, not so early on.

                       "Later?" He offered. "Okay? Promise..."

: : :

"Did you know about his ex?"

"Jules."

                         It was later. "You still love him."

Silence. So you do.

"His ex left him."

"His ex died."

                         He didn't know that.

                          The movie was nearing Gwen Stacy's untimely demise and Paul was buried in a blanket that didn't smell like him. I knew it was Izzy's. I knew I wasn't supposed to know.

                           And it was so obvious in the way he looked down, the way he locked his fingers together and shrugged after a minute or two and Paul had mentioned his tendency to fall in love with everyone who gave him attention... more than once. It wasn't right to hold his big heart against him.

                            "How?"

                          I didn't know if he wanted to share that pain again. "He didn't say."

                        Silence.

                        "Did he hurt you?"

Nothing.

                          He swallowed, hard, eyes squeezing shut after a moment and only for a second... then he was staring blankly at the screen, tears in those big brown eyes.

                        "It's not your fault. And I'm not gonna judge you."

                         Then he broke.

                        "I told him I don't do that." He shook his head and he wouldn't look at me. "We-we didn't switch, ever, it wasn't like it was something I let him do on occasion, we never did. It was an obvious boundary." And he was hugging himself, it felt like deja vu, and my dislike of Isaiah revitalized.

                       "We didn't talk about it." Paul was so desperate to absolve him though and I could see the love he had for another man... and I didn't feel threatened. I felt sad for him. Isaiah should've had the common sense to back away, Paul rarely let go like that, he should've known it wasn't right.

                         They lived together, he saw him. He should've understood.

                        "I should've said something, told him about it or at least been firm in it." He spoke again. "But I don't- I don't remember what happened. A-and I woke up in his bed when we were supposed to be celebrating Rilee, and I hadn't slept with him in weeks... I had no intentions of sleeping with him, w-we were drinking and..."

                        "Rilee was drinking with you?"

                        "She asked me not to."

                         "But she took you to a bar."

                          "She didn't want to." That's bullshit.

                          Why would you take your alcoholic best friend to a bar, a club... knowing how bad it could be and then let them get so drunk that they didn't remember sleeping with someone?

                         She was wrong for that. "I don't understand how... people don't realize how hard it is." I could feel my anger rising and it seemed to shock him. Rilee clearly knew him, they'd been friends for almost a decade.

                   "It's always there, and- and to be put in situations where you're expected to watch all your friends drink... you shouldn't have to go through that."

                            He chose silence again.

"Pabs."

                            "Its everyday and its exhausting." He shrugged. "I let go one time and now it's everyday. I think about it every day. I'm so tired."

                            He was laying back on the couch again, I wondered how many times Isaiah and him cuddled into the couch like this. His empty bedroom was haunting.

                       "She shouldn't have put you in that position."

                       "I put myself in that position." He shrugged.

                      "It's an illness, just like depression."

                      "Yeah but you didn't choose to be mentally ill. I did it to myself, I chose it over my family, over Abuelita, over-over Izzy. I'm too old to keep blaming everyone else for it."

                     He was looking at the ceiling then but instead of closing himself off, I felt his hand find mine. As if he were asking for forgiveness of speaking of him. "Izzy's a bartender, I knew what I was getting into. And I still resented him for it."

                     "It's not like I don't trust him. I do, I know he wouldn't intentionally do that. I don't know. I woke up the next day and I just... I felt so violated." He held back a sob but tears were streaming down his face, I watched one fall over his cheekbone.

                     He gasped, holding my hand a bit tighter. "I-I know he didn't mean it."

                    "Look at me." He didn't.

                     Still, I continued. "You can't blame yourself for it."

He laughed, humorlessly and so, so angry. "Who else can I blame?"

"Maybe you need to talk to someone."

"What like therapy?"

"... You deserve to have peace with it and you need to figure out what'll bring you that peace."

"You were vulnerable." It wasn't his fault that he drew clear boundaries and someone decided to cross them. Being drunk didn't make it right. "Doesn't matter what his intentions were if you were uncomfortable and you weren't in the right space to consent."

"...Maybe talking to a therapist will—"

"I'm fine, Jules." It was sharp and clipped and left a funny taste in my mouth. Still, I tried.

"Even neurotypical people go to therapy. Keenan goes to therapy." Isaiah needed therapy.

"Okay, Jules."

"You said you're the one to blame. How do you atone for that? By not doing it again. By not choosing to drink over yourself." I tried.

"And maybe if you let it out, it won't consume you. You have trauma, probably ptsd. It makes sense that you would have a lot of intrusive thoughts, you have nightmares. You could talk to someone."

I watched the tears well in his eyes, and he bit his lip.

And he was sighing softly now, tucking himself back into my side and I could tell that he didn't wanna talk anymore.

I rubbed my hand over his calf when his legs bent over my lap and he pulled a blanket over us. The movie was playing softly, and Paul grabbed the remote to turn it up mid-heartbreaking montage. It was silent for ten minutes while I tried to avoid asking.

He had that little crease in his brow.

"I'm sorry you had to grow up so fast."

"Jules."

                     "No. You didn't deserve any of that, okay? You always put on a brave face and you like to help everyone else. It's more than okay to admit that sometimes you're not okay."

He didn't seem like he cared about what I had to say and I told myself that it was just the redundancy. He knew what he needed, and I was sure that I wasn't the first to mention it but I hoped that it would get through.

I opened my mouth again but Paul was shaking his head. He shrugged, and it was empty; his eyes were still on the screen. "I just need a minute."

"Baby—"

"I'm sorry we're still talking about him."

Just that was enough to wipe away any jealousy I had. He frowned. "You guys had a relationship, you meant something to each other. The hurt you feel can't be independent of that."

"And you can tell me, anything that you feel." His hands were in mine, so soft and small. I brushed my thumbs over his knuckles, kissing at the skin. "I will never make you feel bad about it."

He swallowed, hard. And then he sighed, heavy, brown eyes on the ceiling.

"I didn't know his ex was dead... They were together for eight years." Fuck. His eyes were soaked, fighting the dam to spill.

"Give me time." And he offered a smile but it held so much pain. I regretted bringing it up. "You're right, I know but I don't wanna talk about it right now."

A/N:
I caved.
Sorry if the next update is in 4 years lol.
Show some love for this one though cause the universe has been kicking my ass.

Thx
Much love.

Updated: Thursday, Oct 27th

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