Tate cries the whole drive home. His visions so blurry its only by muscle memory that he makes it to his house. He imagines the Javi he knew, the Javi he loved, in that position years ago. A position where he sold himself to save his dad. That's something only the Javi that he knows, that he loves, would do. So self-sacrificial.

     He can't think about what he must have went through. He remembers the haunted look on his face. How had that man abused him? What had he taken from him?

     He's not thinking when he pulls back out of his driveway and goes back to Javi. He just knows it's not over and he's not finished with him.

     He's at Javi's window. The lights are off. The windows open. He only has to slip his foot into the first slot in the foundation to reach his screen. When he looks into his room, he sees Javi's wide awake and staring at him, lying on his side.

     "Round two already?" Javi mumbles.

     "Just open the window, Javi."

     He gets up, making his way over slowly. He slides the screen out of the way and steps back. Tate easily lifts himself up on the sill, like the top portion of a tricep dip. He squeezes his knee onto the sill between his arms and then the other one. When he's crouched in the window, he shifts to the side and swings his legs around.

     "You're good at that now."

     "Yeah, years of practice I guess." It's weird referencing their history. It makes Tate hot all over.

     "What're you doing here?"

     "I needed to say something."

     "More than what you already said?"

     "Javi, just let me speak."

     Javi holds up his hands placatingly.

     "I'm sorry," Tate says finally.

     Javi shakes his head. "Don't do that. Don't feel bad for me."

     "I'm just saying I'm sorry."

     "No, no you're only sorry now because you know. But just because you know, doesn't change what I did to you. And how I left things."

     Tate shakes his head quickly. "I'm not sorry for treating you the way I did. I was mad at you. I'm still mad at you. But I'm sorry you thought that was your only choice. I'm sorry you didn't think you could come to me for help. I'm sorry you had to go through that alone."

     "You have no idea what I went through," Javi says.

     "Yeah and I can only imagine. It was enough to keep you away for all these years."

     "You should hate me, Tate," Javi says voice low. "I hate me."

     "Don't think I haven't tried," he responds just as quietly. "I want to so bad. You have no idea."

     "What's stopping you?"

     "Memories."

❂

     Javi is not going to cry in front of Tate again.

     Tears, he knows, are a form of manipulation. Montgomery always scolded him for using them. Suck them back up, he'd say. They're not going to get you any favors.

     "Don't pity me," Javi says. "I made my choices."

     "And you'd make them again," Tate says nodding. "I get it. I just don't understand why you didn't come to me. I thought we told each other everything."

     Javi hates that this is what's hurting Tate now. Hates that he is constantly hurting him. "You had your own money stuff. I didn't want to burden you."

     Tate frowns and his voice is shattered when he says, "It sucks you think you would've burdened me back then. I would've done anything for you. You have to know that."

     Javi swallows and he doesn't know if the new onslaught of pain is from his declaration itself or that it's all in past tense. "I wanted to sacrifice myself, Tate."

     "You're not a god, Javi. Putting yourself in positions to be hurt isn't going to do anything but get you hurt."

     Javi shrugs. "Maybe I just wanted to be hurt. All I know is I didn't want anyone's help. I wanted to do it on my own."

    "And look where that got you."

     "You have no idea where I am."

     "You're right," Tate admits. "You're right here, but you really aren't. Whatever's happened to you, it's like you're half gone."

     Javi takes a sharp breath. That's a hard truth. How does Tate see him so well? How many times in this exact space had Tate whittled him down to his smallest pieces.

    "So is that all you came here for?" Javi asks finally, choking up, and honestly needing Tate to leave.

     "No, this, too."

     Javi is surprised when Tate steps into his space and hugs him.

❂

     Tate is still trembling long after he leaves Javi's place and goes home. It's late now. Pepper's gone and his mom's in bed. He knows Syl's up, though, so he gives her a call as he climbs into bed. He won't sleep till he gets this out.

     "Heyo," Sylvia says. Tate can hear some video game in the background.

     "Hey," he croaks.

     "Ooph," she says. "You sound terrible. You getting sick?"

     "No, it's not that."

     "Oh," Sylvia says knowingly. "Javi then?"

     "Javi always," Tate says. "You got a minute?"

     "Sure," she says and he hears her game go silent. "FaceTime me though, I like to see the emotional rollercoaster in real time."

     He laughs and mutters, "Rude," but then switches them over to FaceTime.

     "You've been crying, shit!" she says."Damn, what's happened? I thought you were avoiding him?"

     "Decided to be an adult and face it head-on. I didn't get what I was looking for but I did get something."

     "And what were we looking for exactly?" Sylvia asks.

     She still has her gaming headset on, tucking her red hair back, but she's moved the ear piece so she can hear. Her phone must be propped in a stand because she's a distance away and curled up in her gaming chair. She's wearing what looks like a onesie but from 2002. Footy pajamas, Tate realizes. They've got SpongeBob and Patrick plastered all over it.

     "I wanted him to give me more of a reason to hate him," Tate admits. "I wanted him to say he left because he wanted better and didn't think he'd find that with me."

     "And I take it that is not what he said," Sylvia says. "Funny, cause I could've sworn I told you that definitely wasn't what happened."

     "You never even met him," Tate cries. "How could you have any idea what happened?"

     "Because I know you. And anybody who left you like that had to be have been running for some other reason. You're too good to pass up."

     "Well," Tate says flushing. "He did run for some other reason."

     He hesitates in telling Sylvia everything but then he does because he's never been very good at keeping secrets and he needs someone else's opinion on this. When he's done, Sylvia is quiet for a long stretch. If they weren't on FaceTime, he'd be sure she fell asleep.

     "Fuck," she says finally. "Fuck."

     Tate sighs and says, "Sorry if that was a heavy thing to drop on you."

     "I mean, poor Javi. That's really awful." Sylvia looks away from her phone and he watches her lean forward and start typing. "I'm gonna look up senators from seven years ago that are still active."

     "That's a good idea," Tate says.

     For the next hour, Sylvia cross references senators and they put together a list of potential people. Then they narrow it down to four senators. Michael Montgomery of Virginia, Preston Kingsley of Maine, Victor Kraft of Pennsylvania and John Baker of Kentucky. All four are in their mid- to late forties and were on the Senate when Javi left and are still currently on it now.

     "All of them are giving me the ick honestly," Sylvia says scrolling through their photos on google.

     "Do any of them look like someone who'd do that?"

     "I mean all of them look like it. They look like closeted little assholes. They all have wives. Some of them have kids."

     Tate is angry again. He's angry for Javi. He wants to find this guy and fuck him up. "He has to tell me who it is."

     "You gotta respect his privacy, Tate," Sylvia says seriously. "If he wants you to know, he'll let you know. But I believe him if he says its dangerous. These guys are like super fucking powerful."

     "I just don't get why he would do this."

     "Wouldn't you do anything for your mom?"

      "Yeah, but."

     "And he was young. He didn't know. They met online. I imagine there was a lot of grooming involved. A lot of promises made."

     "I guess that's true, too."

❂

     Javi lays in bed, unable to sleep. It's always like this. Either, he's asleep in minutes or up all night. No middle ground. He's had a stint of comatose sleep so he's not surprised that he's turning a corner into sleepless nights now.

     Which sucks because he just wants to sleep and wake up and be better. Better than this.

     There's no TV in his room, but he has his laptop. He doesn't know the wifi, or if they even have wifi, so he uses his phone to hotspot. He starts streaming How I Met Your Mother. It's a comfort show for him, usually does a good job of putting him to sleep.

     It's nearing midnight when he gets a text. Javi has been actively avoiding his cell phone at all costs. In fact, he's left the thing dead or on airplane mode most of his time home. The only reason it's even on now is to generate a hotspot.

     He looks because there's this small hope, a little hope, that it might be Tate. Despite how brutal their honesty hour had been, how much it'd taken out of him to relive the details and admit them out loud, he feels better. Like maybe he and Tate can have some semblance of—

     No, he's not going to get his hopes up. He doesn't deserve Tate. He doesn't deserve anyone. He doesn't have to imagine the pain he's caused. He sees it all the time, on his dad's face, on Tate's. The fact he wasn't here. That he never got to say goodbye to his mom.

     Yeah, no. Javi's extremely undeserving.

     He looks at his phone and it's not Tate. It's Montgomery. Missing you. 

     Javi feels the bile rise in his throat and he swallows it down. He's not going to throw up at every emotional wrench thrown his way. He turns his head into his pillow and screams. He can't let Montgomery do this to him.

     He fucks with his head, he's burrowed himself in all these corners of Javi's soul, little dark spots. Javi's been trying to shine light on them, he's been trying to stay out of the dark, but all Montgomery wants is to pull him under.

     Remember this? He sends with a video attached. Javi doesn't play it. He doesn't have to. He can tell from the clip that it's him on his knees for Montgomery. It's an old video. Javi stopped having him record him a few years ago when his position changed and he stopped being indebted to him.

     Miss this.

     Javi blinks back tears. He thinks about his younger self, the one that didn't know this future yet. The one that fell in love with Tate and was loved by Tate. He holds his eyes shut and remembers, and remembers, and remembers.

     Tate would play piano in the afternoons his mom had late shifts at the diner. He'd tell Javi he couldn't hang out and he wouldn't invite Javi over, either. He was hiding this thing. So Javi would ride his bike to his house, and leave it at the bottom of their drive. He'd come up around their side through the woods and he'd hide under their kitchen window and listen to Tate playing piano.

     He never played for anyone but his mom. Javi never understood why. He was perfect. He made magic with his hands alone.

     I'm not done with you Javier.

     Javi just manages to get his head over the edge of his bed before he throws up.

❂

     Tate doesn't feel great when he wakes the following morning but he feels better than he has in a while, more at peace than anything. Angry, too, but not at Javi, which he guesses changes everything. Being angry at Javi had been debilitating. This new anger invigorates him. He wants vengeance, he's just not sure how to get it yet. Not while respecting Javi's wishes.

     In the morning, he finds Pepper and his mom at the kitchen table. He overslept so he's behind schedule but he's off from work while Oscar settles a new contract. He likes to start his days early even when he's not technically working.

     Margie looks up at him when he walks into the kitchen. Her face holds a question that he reads easily. She's gotten used to Javi's visits and since he hasn't left his bed in a few days, she's grown concerned. Similar to how Oscar's been concerned. It's why Tate had even gone over there yesterday night.

     "Javi's fine," he says as he moves to make some tea. "You don't have to worry."

     His words do nothing to ease the distress off of his mom's face, which confuses him. And then Pepper says, "Well he's not fine." She's standing at the counter, disseminating his mom's medication into her daily trays.

     "No, I saw him yesterday, he's fine," Tate insists.

     "Well he's depressed, so not sure how fine he is," Pepper says matter of factly.

     Tate turns to her both shocked and questioning. And a little pissed. That's a big leap for someone who doesn't know Javi and has barely met him to make. "What are you talking about?"

     Pepper looks up from her work and raises her eyebrow. "Oh you didn't pick that up? You know, I can never tell if I'm noticing something because it's obvious or because of my field of work. Guess this ones the later."

     Tate stumbles over this knowledge. "No, no he's not that."

     "Okay, because you say so," Pepper says with a shrug. "It's just that you also said he's been lying in bed for days, and that's a big marker. And you know, now that I think about it, he looks like someone who's lost a lot of weight and not eating is another one. And there's the fact I think he's on an antidepressant."

     "How would you know any of that?" Tate asks, his tone aggressive.

     "I used to work in the emergency room. I know what depression looks like and I also know what it looks like when someone's just started an antidepressant."

     Whatever face Tate's making Pepper notices and quickly adds, "I could be wrong. I've been wrong before. But, I don't know, the not leaving his bed for days is a pretty big red flag."

     Margie is staring at Tate, maybe trying to gauge his reaction. He asks her, "Do you think that, too?"

     She shrugs. He turns the heat off on his water and snaps, "Why is that you can talk for Javi but you can't talk for me?"

     He doesn't wait for an answer because he's certain he won't get one.

❂

     Javi does eventually fall asleep but only for a few hours. He's determined to be well, or at least not burden his dad with not being well.

     He gets up at a decent hour. He showers the night sweats off of himself. He doesn't have the proper arsenal of clothes for this area. Most of his clothes are business casual. But he finds a thin collared v-neck shirt and tucks it into some light wash jeans. He puts on his brown loafers Colleen packed before meeting Oscar in the kitchen.

     His dad looks like he's been up for a few hours. The coffee pots already half-empty and he's diced vegetables. "Morning Javi," he says pleasantly.

     "Morning dad," Javi says. "Do you want help?"

     "No, I got this. You sit down."

     Javi does, watching from the kitchen table as his dad cooks two omelets loaded with veggies and cheddar cheese. When he finishes, he comes over and places one in front of Javi. "Sleep well?" he asks.

     "Not bad," Javi lies.

     "And how was your talk with Tate? I didn't hear you come in."

     Javi averts his gaze, focusing instead on cutting into his omelet with his fork. "Helpful, I think."

     "These things take time," Oscar says softly.

     "What things?"

     "Forgiveness," Oscar tells him, sounding wise.

     "Do you need time still?"

     Oscar chuckles and shakes his head. "Javi, you're my son. My blood. The way I love you means forgiveness comes like breathing. It's very natural to me. I don't think there's anything you could do that I wouldn't forgive. It's what it means to love a child."

     Javi feels like his dad just reached into his chest and gave his heart a purposeful squeeze. "Thank you," he says softly, trying not to cry. It's been too much crying lately, but these would be different tears.

     "Tate hurts differently," Oscar says. "It's the type of hurt that only comes from loving someone the way he does."

     Javi inhales and chokes on some eggs. He reaches for his dad's coffee and chokes on that, too. "Have you never heard of milk or sugar?"

     He has to hack into the air before he finally clears his airway. Oscar's grinning but trying not to when he says, "Sorry, was I supposed to keep pretending I didn't know?"

     Javi grimaces and then drops his forehead onto the kitchen table. "This is so embarrassing."

     Oscar laughs loudly. "I could really embarrass you then, if I start telling you the things I know. I should say that using your window as a door is not as stealth as you think it is."

     "Please stop."

     Oscar reaches over and pats Javi's shoulder. "Javi, it's okay."

     Javi groans. "How long did you know?"

     "How long did I know what exactly? That you had feelings for Tate or that you two were finally acting on it?"

     "Oh my god." Javi groans again.

     "Your mother said to me one night. We were lying in bed, you must have been ten or eleven years old. She said rather plainly 'he's going to marry that boy.' I didn't even know what she was talking about at first. You know sometimes she started conversations in her head and finished them out loud. I said 'who's going to marry what boy?' 'Our son Oscar,' she snapped. 'And Margie's son.' 'Tate and Javi? Javi and Tate?'"

     "This can't be real."

     "Oh, it's very real. She said 'watch them the next time they're together.' I asked her 'and what am I looking for?' She said 'you'll see it and you'll know' and sure as shit I did. I'll never forget you and Tate were racing down the hill on your bikes just a few weeks later. And Tate went over the handlebars. You're both eleven years old. Kids. He's crying so hard he's barely breathing, face all red. And you're crying because he's crying. His knees dislocated and even though you're so upset, you manage to carry him back up the hill on your back."

     "He was hurt, what was I supposed to do?"

     "I knew then what I know now, that you'd do anything for him and he'd do anything for you."

     "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

     Oscar shrugs. "Why didn't you?"

     "I don't know. I guess I thought you wouldn't approve."

     Oscar shakes his head. "It's not for me to approve, Javi. You love who you love in this life. Tate is the best of them. I couldn't have asked for someone better for you."

     "Yeah, well, I ruined that," Javi mumbles.

     "Give it time, " Oscar says. "And eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

     Javi looks back down at his omelet and then up at his dad. "I'd do anything for you, too, dad. I hope you know that."

     "I can feel it, Javi. That's most important."