Despite her flat having many more comforts than my depleted council house, we've been meeting at mine more often since the change of the year. By now, Joe is used to the bitter tinto I brew every morning. It's definitely a downgrade from the frothy lattes George Clooney makes her but with a hefty spooning of panela, she might even like it.

If we were to ever move in together, though, she'd probably bring her Nespresso machine.

'What's the story with this one?' she asks, inspecting her rather lumpy mug.

'I made that on a ceramics date with Caleb. It's supposed to be one of them Kodama tree spirits from Princess Mononoke.'

I slide the breakfast plate in front of her, piled with scrambled tofu, beans, and mushrooms fried with (frozen) kale. 'Thank you,' she hums. 'I rate this service ten stars.'

'Is that right?' With my hand on the table, I bow my face closer to hers. 'You can rate it with a kiss if you want.'

Joe shakes her head at my corniness but kisses me anyway. The feel of her lips is familiar now, another step in a dependable morning routine–

'Where's the bleach?'

I jolt and stub my toe on the table leg. Why do they have to be so fucking quiet? Either they're slamming doors and punching things, or he's as silent as a ghost—for once I wish it was the prior.

Teeth gritted, I balance on one leg to massage the pain as I turn to Cece standing in the kitchen doorway, all black clothes and scowl. It's seven in the morning and they've already done their eyeliner.

'Pour it in my eyes,' they drone. 'Throat works too.'

A smile buds on my face from the sight of them despite my poor toe and their sourness. 'Good morning,' I try, sliding into my chair. My own mug has drawn mushrooms and the text "DILF: Damn I Love Fungi".

Cece don't respond as they pour the rest of the coffee, nearly half, into a larger mug with blood drops on it. I got it from donating when I were seventeen.

'You're awake already?'

'Try again.'

'Didn't you sleep at all?'

'Every time it's dark, I'm haunted by images far beyond your comprehension, Nicolás.' Their eyes hook into mine. 'Psychiatrists are boring. Don't become another one.'

'Well,' Joe chimes and looks like she instantly regrets it. She still can't stop herself. 'Maybe you just haven't found the right therapist. They're all different–'

The laugh that slices through their teeth cuts right through my skin. My blood simmers.

'So you're Nicolás's girlfriend?' They inspect Joe. 'What kind of brain damage did you suffer as a baby?'

'¡No seas un cabrón!'

'¿Así que eso es un sí? Just interesting that you didn't think to tell me.'

'Mis relaciones no son de tu incumbencia.'

Cece drinks their coffee through their grin but the same slithering disturbs his eyes.

Joe breaks the silence. 'Nikki tells me you're an artist. He's showed me your social media. Your stuff's brilliant.'

They stare at her the way you stare at an open wound out of morbid curiosity. 'You don't have to do that,' they finally say. '"Get to know me". Don't bother.' Ghost-like again, he glides out of the kitchen.

'There's breakfast,' I call after them.

'Not hungry.'

            'He told you what happened?' Bobbi's broad Somerset accent rolls through my car speakers, homely even when her voice is serious.

I phoned her the moment Joe shut the door even though I'm already testing my luck to get to work on time with my detour to drop Joe off in the morning traffic. Rain hammers against the roof, the windscreen wipers squeal back and forth, and I have to turn the volume too high to hear her.

'About being suspended? Yeah.'

'That too. Good that he told you. We agreed that they would but Cecilio struggles with these things.'

Unlike most foster parents, Bobbi has a refreshing honesty that doesn't take away from her kindness. She makes it look effortless while I fall off the tightrope on a weekly basis.

'But there's something else too—we can talk about it later if you prefer.'

I chew the inside of my cheek. 'Now's alright.'

The tautness of Bobbi's voice makes my stomach drop. 'Well, I've noticed that they're not eating properly. They've been avoiding meals for months and if they attend, they mostly move food around their plate. It's quite common for children in care to only want to eat alone but I've been tracking him and avoidant behaviour is definitely present when it comes to food.'

The vines of dread around my throat are so tight I can barely squeeze my voice through. 'What d'you mean "not eating properly"?'

'He's not eating much at all.'

'Okay, so...' I rub my face. 'You reckon they're in psychosis?'

'Could be,' Bobbi says, the shrug audible in her voice. 'With a case like Cecilio, it's difficult to tell when things are OCD, schizophrenia, trauma, or just their behaviour. It took enough convincing to get them to even see a psychiatrist, we can't push too hard or they'll end up regressing. It don't help that one of his reoccurring delusions is being followed, studied, and locked in. Trying to talk to them about this triggers feelings of being threatened.

'I tried to approach him about a treatment plan for his eating. That's when they stormed out.'

It's a good thing I turn into the car park of the building that houses the NutriLents office because my ability to focus on the physical world around me has been butchered. 'Treatment plan?'

'Like I said, it's impossible to know what exactly is causing it so our best bet is to combine techniques from anorexia treatment, OCD therapy, PTSD, and schizophrenia and see what sticks.'

'Anorexia?'

Cece don't need anorexia on top of everything else. They're alright, aren't they? They've been rejecting meals since summer but I reckoned they just go out to eat at McDonald's like he did when he moved in. They have to be alright.

'I doubt they have anorexia if we're strictly looking at the diagnostic criteria,' Bobbi explains. 'I don't think this is about body image, I mean. But that doesn't mean we can't use recovery techniques that've been successful in anorexia patients.'

The vines are seconds away from strangling me. 'Should I try to talk to them? Or do I ignore it?'

'That's up to you. It could go over better coming from you; they trust you. But you don't have to—I'm happy to continue the conversation here when Cecilio comes back.'

After Bobbi hangs up, I watch the rain pour down my windscreen. It rushes in surges as though someone is sitting on the roof of my car and heaving down bucketfuls of water. My insides drown in mimicry; the flash flood is so aggressive that all the joy and excitement and hope I've managed to sow over the past year rots at the root within seconds.

How could I not have noticed? Again. I've got distracted again, just like I did at uni. What if summat happened last night and I didn't have my phone on me? How could I have forgot it in the car? All cause I was too busy having sex.

"He trusts you", on what fucking planet does Cece trust me? On what planet do I deserve it?

How could I not–?

Someone knocks on my window. I flinch my attention to it to see my boss standing outside. He shields himself with an umbrella though with the way the wind grabs at it, I'm not sure it'll keep him any drier than he'd be without it.

I wipe my tears as subtly as I can as I roll down the window. At what point did I start crying?

'DumbleWindows!' Evan greets. He crouches with the umbrella in his armpit so he can lean with both forearms on the sill as if he's a wistful Disney character gazing at the clear blue sky and not currently standing in torrential Manchester rain in an office car park. 'Everything alright?'

'Yeah, sorry. I'll be right in.'

Evan waves away my apology. 'If you need to take the day off, that's okay.'

I snap upright. Is this how I get sacked? Cause that would be right champion. Exactly what I need for this day.

'No, I'm alright–'

'Listen Nicolás, you've taken half a day of sick leave since you started working here over three years ago. The only time you stop working, is when your brother gets in trouble. At this point, it's like please just tell me your nana's died or your dog ate your keycard or something.'

Evan laughs like an engine turning over only to cut it off abruptly and nail me with a grave stare. 'This is my company and even I don't fancy working here sometimes. You can't like it that much. You can take a mental health day if you need it.' Evan smiles, rain running along his brow and down his temple.

Hey Google: Should I be feeling glad my boss cares about my well-being or horrified by how pathetically I must've been crying for my boss to tell me to go home?

I weigh my options. Either I can go to work and keep myself distracted since Cece will likely be sleeping for a good part of the afternoon or I can go home and try to talk to Cece, try to spend time with them while I've got them here.

'Yeah.' I nod. 'If that's okay. I do have some family stuff going on.'

'Of course it's okay. Selena took a day off last week because she thought her cat was depressed. We'll manage not to break any computers for a few days and if we do, we'll just use that Reddit website you're always on.'

My cheeks burn but there's no glint in Evan's eye that suggests he knows I don't actually use it for work. I think he genuinely reckons Reddit is an essential part of an IT job.

'You go relax a little. I'll see you in a couple of days.' Evan stands up, tapping my door to send me off before he runs inside like he just now realises that he's soaked. My right side is too, one trouser leg several shades darker than the other, and I press the window up before I reverse right back out of my parking spot.

Notes

¡No seas un cabrón!: Don't be an asshole.

¿Así que eso es un sí?: So that's a yes?

Mis relaciones no son de tu incumbencia: My relationships are none of your business.