The toast's corner was getting soggy in my mouth as I lost myself in thought again. The smell of bacon sizzling on the stove was trying to tease my nose without much success. With a stab of his fork, Ambrose flipped one over and a renewed sizzle met my ears. He was making me breakfast to try to apologize, every strip of bacon an apology. Just for me.

"Is the toast good?" he asked, looking down and wiping his hand of the grease on one of Miss Cha Cha's aprons, which he'd donned for the occasion. It was bright red, my favorite color. I noticed every detail. He was trying so hard.

I bit down, and the bread crumbled into my mouth. Unable to speak now, I nodded to him. He smiled hopefully, then turned back to his task. I chewed, thinking more.

He really didn't have to be trying so hard. I understood now. All I wanted was to know more. More about what he'd been lying about. What would he tell me? I wanted him to feel like he had to tell me.

I felt like he had been telling me the truth. But I wanted to know more of the truth. Now that he had opened up, I wanted this opened path to connect with me even more.

He dipped his fork into the pan again, and brought out bacon onto the paper towels. Each one flopped on, not crispy just like how I liked it. Without a moment's hesitation, he poured the bowl of beaten eggs into the pan and began poking at it as it fried up.

An image appeared in my brain. A little boy with shiny black hair, much shorter in stature, poking at a pan of fried eggs. I'd been looking into the pan eagerly, watching the yellow eggs scatter around and plump up from liquid to semi-solid. Begging him to put in the cheese, now, please now!

Just as I thought it, his hand pinched into a smaller bowl on the counter and yellow crumbled cheddar jumped into the pan with the eggs. The smell of melting cheese flew into my nose lazily and I about melted with it. Oh, this smell...it brought me back to my grandmother's kitchen.

And the two of us, so much younger. How old had we been then? Ten? Eleven? Where had Ambrose learned to cook? My head tilted, my eyes closed. I really could not imagine his father teaching him how. Had he then learned on his own? When?

Ambrose. I stared at the back of his head, his hair so neat and finely combed. This Ambrose here, he was the same Ambrose as back then. But then why...he was so different, yet so the same. When had he changed? Why did he change?

"Ah, cheese," he said in a snort, dumping the last of it in. I couldn't help but smile. It sounded like he had just stifled a laugh. Why was he laughing?

"Was that a giggle?" I asked, picking up my triangle of toast again.

"Oh," he giggled, this time in full. It made me smile. "Oh, good, you're smiling."

"Yeah," I said, shaking my head to shake off a feeling like I was falling. My world was upended and I was smiling. How strange.

"I'm glad." His words sounded so warm.

"Mm." I stared at him, chewing more toast with crunches. "What are you laughing about?"

"Well," he turned back to his work, giving more pokes, "I don't know if you remember. But I remember when I made this for you the first time. You really wanted the cheese. You were so scared I'd forget. So I put in all the cheese just now because I know you'd want all the cheese."

It was my turn to start laughing.

"Hmm?" he asked, scooping the egg onto a plate waiting on the counter with last frying noises. His fork scraped the bits of it out, the sticking cheese coming with it.

"I was thinking the same memory," I said, trying to stifle my giggles. I breathed in, pinching the air in my throat to halt them. It worked, and I took another corner of my toast.

"Really?" he grinned at me, setting the pan down with a clatter on the burner. Leaning down, he clicked it off and with the elegance of a dancer he picked up the plates on the counter and brought them over in one swoop.

"Yeah. It really reminds me of my grandma."

He smiled at me gently, stopping my hand as I tried to get some bacon just as he sat down. "It's too hot. Let me." A small blush rose to my cheeks at his manners. I watched his graceful wrists flick as he stabbed the bacon and lifted them onto my plate, each one so careful. Like I was some foreign Princess he was serving instead of just me. It made me feel so special. So very special.

He spoke again as he moved onto the eggs, scooping them into my plate. I noticed he had not yet served himself. It made my cheeks become hotter. "Your grandma?" he said, searching out the orange spots of cheese and putting the pieces of egg with the most in them on my plate which made me blush even more. "I noticed you said her name when you..." I saw his cheeks turn a little pink. He paused, looking at me. His eyes were full of concern swimming among the green and gold hazel.

"Oh," I said, unable to stop looking into his eyes.

"Were you thinking about her this morning?" he asked, his voice delicate and small. As if he were afraid of the subject. But I thought better of it. No, he was just afraid of me.

This realization made me put my hand on his wrist, the one with the fork in his hand. My touch made the fork clatter onto my plate. The chain reaction continued to his face, where the pink bloomed into red. His eyes darted to my hand then to my eyes in a quick second, seeming so unsure.

"Yes, I was thinking about her," I said, trying to make my face soft for him.

"Why is that?" he asked.

"Well, when I woke up I heard her sewing machine."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said in such a little voice. So embarrassed.

"No, it's okay." I started to rub the top of his wrist with my fingers, in circles. In the quiet of the kitchen, I heard his breath go long in a silent sigh. This made me not want to stop. "I just forgot where I was for a minute because of that. Then when I heard her scissors clunk on the table, I really thought...but that's silly."

"What's silly?" he asked, staring down at my finger rubbing circles on his wrist.

"Um..." It was my turn to sigh now. My finger stopped, and I took his wrist. This traveled up his hand and his fingers entwined with mine as if automatically. They gripped and relief squeezed from my lungs into my stomach. Such relief. I hadn't realized how much I wanted this. "I thought she was working on a dress in her sewing room. I was so disoriented. I thought I was in her house, that she was alive. I really thought...I'd see her in there. But it was you."

"I'm sorry," he said, apologizing yet again.

"No, really," I sighed, rocking our hands on the table back and forth slowly in thought, "I was dumb."

"No, you're not dumb." His hand squeezed mine, which made me feel tingly. "You miss her. I get it."

"Mm," I said, not able to take my eyes off our entwined hands, "it's not even that. I don't know."

"It's not?" He squeezed my hand again and it felt like it was around my heart.

"No. I guess...I don't know. I guess I miss her. Like, her. Do you know?"

"Hmm." Our hands stopped rocking on the table, and all of sudden his hand was leaving mine, uncurling. It made my heart gasp, miss him already, the familiar warmth leaving. I wanted to protest but he was already getting up from his chair.

"Wait here," he said.

"What?" I was caught off guard, needing him so much. Hollowed out, so embarrassed at this feeling. "Where are you going?"

His face turned to one of such worry. I read it in his eyes. He didn't want to leave me either. Then why was he going?

"I'll be right back," he assured.

Listening to his bare footsteps go down the hallway, the hollow feeling grew. I really couldn't stand to be away from him. So different from the past few days, when I had actually run away from him. I felt so stupid. My very body was conflicted. This boy. I needed this boy, and yet I'd been so betrayed. Now he'd made me breakfast, told me all of those things. He'd given me what seemed like the key to all of his secrets, the ones that had made me so betrayed in the first place. Now I didn't know what to think. And all I wanted was my grandma.

I wanted it to be like it had been before, at my grandma's house. That's what I really wanted. This sudden revelation made me want him even more. But not like now. How he was. Before everything. Before all this.

I wanted that little boy to make me breakfast. But something in my mind was telling me he already did. That it was on the table right now. He was just different. I was different. We both were. So why-

"Here, Ruiz."

I gasped. It didn't seem to come from my body, an outer body experience.

"Ambrose!" I cried, falling back in my chair.

He padded to me like a sorry puppy, his steps heavy as he unclasped the silly clasp of my grandma's pearls. My Mama's pearls. The Audrey Hepburn pearls that my grandma...my Nana...

As they slipped onto my neck from behind, his hands working to the height of their dexterity to make sure that silly clasp stayed, I burst into tears. My grandma...my grandma...

"I'm sorry," I heard him say behind me, in a sort of a muffle, "I went to your Mama's house yesterday. You said you were going to your Mama's house so I went, and- I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Ambrose, you..." I looked down and I could see the swirled diamonds, glittering at me, so familiar.

"I'm sorry."

"You..." I was squeaking.

"I talked to your Mama. She was really worried about you, but I didn't say much. I didn't think you'd want me to. I just asked if I could take some things, because you needed them and she let me. So I brought you this and some other things. They're in my room. I know you missed your drag, so...I wanted...to..." Not saying any more, he swooped around me, crouching down to observe the pearls on my neck. His hands took the swirled diamonds, adjusting them to the middle of my collar, making so sure they were right in the perfect place.

But his eyes flooded with such concern again. That look. It made me feel so...lost. Because they looked so lost. That's exactly what it was. I hadn't been able to put my finger on it when he'd given it to me before he'd gone into his room, but that's what it was.

He was lost.

And then suddenly I realized something very important.

My mind began to flash back. It settled on one particular night, as he looked at me. A matching face appeared in my memory, one with a fluffy white hat with horns on top, the eyes dramatically shadowed but oh so the same. The hazel flecked eyes staring at me so large, the bottoms slightly pinched up like right now.

That night, when he'd gone to Tunnel dressed like a skinny yeti, his torso exposed and fishnets torn a little bit. When he'd told me he was going to the Her Majesty Club. Those eyes.

"Ambrose," I whispered, my heart so in shock it felt like it had been punched.

"Yes," he said, still staring at me.

"Tell me something."

"Anything."

"Sit down." I pointed to his chair like a child. He did what I told him to, so eager. It broke my heart. Because now... "Ambrose, tell me the truth."

"Hmm?" His eyes flicked down at my lap where my hands were. I knew what he wanted. Now I wanted so much to give him anything, because that look... I took his hands in mine and once again I heard his long semi-silent sigh.

"You don't want to party with those guys, do you?"

His mouth parted, his face turning to one of embarrassed shock.

"Do you?" I squeezed his hands in encouragement.

His face turned to the floor and I knew this was his answer. This embarrassment.

"You don't, right?" I asked, gathering his hands and pulling them towards me. He let me, so given up.

"No, I don't want to be with those guys." His answer came slowly, one I already knew.

"I knew it."

"Huh?" He looked up at me again, that same lost expression. It hardened my resolve, knowing so much.

"Yeah, because I remember that night when you went to the Tunnel. You were dressed in that fluffy white thing? The bolero and the fishnet tights? You looked so-"

"I'm sorry."

"Hmm?"

"I'm really sorry."

His hands started shaking in mine and before my eyes his hazel ones became obscured by tears. He sniffled and before I could react one of them leaked from the inside of his eye, falling next to his nose.

"Ambrose," I gasped, going to wipe it but his hands tightened around mine, almost hurting me. This made the air catch in my throat, his forcefulness. "Ambrose-"

"No."

"What-"

"No."

He sniffled again, making a little sound in his throat in the effort. His eyes blinked rapidly, trying to make the tears go away. I wanted to hug him so badly. Pure instinct. Nothing else seemed to matter, my love flying out in reaction to him.

"I regret it. I didn't want to go to the Tunnel. I hate going there. I just want to stay here with you. Oh god, I can't-" He cut himself off, instead staring out at the hallway again.

"Then why do you go?" Something in me wasn't expecting an answer. The way he was acting now...

But he answered. "Because I have to go. Not just there. I have to go lots of places."

It was like a reprieve. It caught me off guard, made me off balance. Like I was tipping over but I was still. "What do you mean?" Was this really happening? Was he really telling me these things?

"I see a lot of people."

"Why? Where do you go?" He still wasn't looking at me. It was getting to me.

"Clubs. Private parties. People's apartments. Lots of places."

"What- why?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He seemed to be changing before my very eyes. A complete picture was forming where there wasn't one before. The truth. Startling me.

"I can't tell you that."

"Ambrose..."

"Really. Please...don't make me tell you that."

My breath caught in my throat. It flew up into my head, making me dizzy.

"Ambrose, you have to."

"Please don't. It's not a game."

My breath left me completely, like he'd socked me in the stomach instead. What was going on? Why was he suddenly doing this? Tears sprung to my eyes and I was glad he wasn't looking at me because I couldn't bear for him to look at me right now. I wanted to hide.

"I know it's not a game," I said, my voice coming so quiet in my tears.

His own voice shuddered, and more of his tears fell down his cheeks. He turned to me and my heart jumped into my throat as we stared at each other, both crying over what he was saying. These terrible things.

"I know it's not a game," I repeated, trying to make him know. I needed him to know I understood how serious this was.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. It didn't seem like he could speak. His eyes. He looked so broken. I couldn't stand it anymore.

"Ambrose, okay," I whimpered. I couldn't stand it. His eyes. As gently as I could, I unfurled our hands and he let me do this, suddenly weak to me. He didn't move as my arms wrapped around him, pulling his body close to me. He was shuddering. Oh, Ambrose... "It's okay. You don't need to tell me. It's okay."

His chin rested on my shoulder and so close to my ear he started to sob little sobs. And in these sobs his words broke my heart completely.

"I'm so sorry, Ruiz," he cried, "I'm so sorry."

"I know you don't want to do those things," I said to him, rubbing his back in an effort to comfort him. "I think that's enough."

"I want to tell you why," he sobbed, his voice shattering my soul. He was so sad. If I had known he'd been this sad...

"But you said you can't tell me why. But you told me all this, so-"

"I knooow, but Ruiz..." He sniffled and coughed, becoming too upset to speak anymore.

I just wanted him to be okay. That was my only focus right now.

"You're here with me right now, so..." This was all I could think of to say. But it was enough. I felt him nodding, his chin digging into my shoulder over and over. His arms curled around me and my heart fell to my toes. Tears gushed out of me at this, his innocent movement, this feeling inside me making me weak.

I was so confused, but so needing to love him. That was the bottom line. It mattered that he wasn't telling me everything, but it felt like he was trying to tell me the truth. Something was nudging me, poking me like the fork in the frying pan. It was saying to me that this was the truth. No doubt. And he was crying on me now, his body pressed to me. I didn't think he'd be here doing this if that were not the case.

"R-Ruiz..."

"Hmm? Yes?"

He sniffled hugely and his arms tightened around my ribs, pressing me to him harder. It made me not able to breathe very well but I found I didn't care.

"I have to-" he choked, but I was patient.

"Hmm?"

"I have to go out tonight, too...but I don't want to. I don't want to- I don't want to..."

Oh. Everything about me seemed to freeze. I felt shook up, helpless. "What do you mean?"

"I have to go to this party. But I-" He didn't seem able to finish.

I was silent. Struck dumb. "Oh, okay."

A big sniff. "Huh?"

"Okay."

"What?"

"You go to your party. If you have to go."

He was quiet. His body wasn't trembling anymore. I didn't stop holding him, though.

"I don't understand," he whispered.

"I don't, either."

"Yeah, but..."

"If it's something you have to do, you have to do it."

"Yeah..."

He just held onto me like I was his only lifeline in a terrible sea, crying again. And I held onto him, because I knew I was his only lifeline for real. Whatever it was he was going to do tonight, I wanted to be here for him, because I knew he was trying to be honest. I felt helpless, but I really felt like he was helpless, too. Something was telling me...he didn't seem to have a choice. And I didn't feel like I could blame him if he didn't have a choice. Could I?