Archive of Our Own

Adam finds out very quickly that your average, everyday therapist isn't equipped to handle the trauma of a Jigsaw victim.

He had his suspicions the moment he first walked in, though. Mrs. Riley is well into her forties and Adam had incorrectly assumed that anyone who lived through the 70s and 80s would be hardened to the horrors of the world. She was eyeing him in a way that made him feel too much like stranded roadkill to even open up much. He can admit, he's not exactly stellar at reading people, but goddamn, he's pretty sure your therapist shouldn't have to (poorly) conceal her horror when you're visibly struggling to recount bashing a man's head in. It's not like it was just any ol' Monday.

So, no. She doesn't exactly help, with her bleak office and inspirational kitten posters and sinus-stinging essential oil burner, but she doesn't exactly not help, either. The hospital he woke up in is paying for his first ten visits to her, some sort of Jigsaw survivor fund thing, so he's not losing money by being here, and he's got nothing better to do other than stand around aimlessly at work. And he would do whatever it takes to make the time he spends at his apartment as minimal as possible.

Besides, she lets him choose a Tootsie Pop on his way out, and Adam is nothing if not a sugar-addicted fat kid at heart.

He deals with it. It's either this or he goes to the stupid group therapy sessions all the Jigsaw survivors have created, and he'd almost rather get shot in his other shoulder than do that. The very idea of sitting in a communal circle and having to listen to someone drone on about what gruesome task they underwent, with that strange amount of twisted pride Jigsaw survivors always seem to have, makes his palms sweat. And the idea of seeing Lawrence again--

He's just - he's just going to put it behind him. After his sessions run out, he's not going to think about this shit anymore.

It's as if he can hear that edited voice on the tape player saying, You fool, it will never be that easy. I will exist to you as long as you are surrounded by shadows.

Fuck it, Adam thinks. He can sleep with the overhead on.

-

His job rivals the gas station from Clerks in terms of stagnancy. It's this CD and record store all the way across town, sandwiched right between a foot massage place and a pretentious coffee shop. How it's still afloat is beyond him - he's got plenty of theories ranging from money laundering to a black market being ran in the basement. But the pay is decent enough; he doesn't even mind that he has to sit on a smelly bus for a total of ninety minutes a day to get there and back and he isn't even in a hurry to get his car fixed (he's not a mechanic, he doesn't know what's wrong with the damn thing and autoshops are amongst his least favorite places on earth) to make it an easier process. All in all, a good enough job on the nicer side of town is not something Adam takes for granted. Getting work over here used to be impossible, but he supposes it's a little hard to say no when someone who's just been all over the news comes hurdling in begging for a job.

Today is a Thursday, so the store is desolate. Teenagers will begin to pop in around three, but for now, it's just Adam, a Filter album on the record player, and his thoughts. Halloween is a few weeks away, so he's stocking the cheesy Halloween-themed compilation CDs while humming along to It's Gonna Kill Me. And really, his thoughts are hardly part of this equation, because his mind has mercy on him and puts him on complete autopilot. It's nice.

Eventually, though, the new shipments run out, the record is over, and Adam's stricken by just how quiet it really is in here.

Usually, his boss is tucked away in the dingy back office, filling out paperwork and making the place reek of beef jerky, but the guy's getting a root canal done today. That leaves Adam, who, with the hair on his neck beginning to rise, begins searching for a new record to put on. He's moving at a quickened pace that he usually reserves for stray cats who telepathically beg him to scratch their chins. But he needs something loud, and there's nothing good enough here, and Jesus Christ of course there isn't he's in the fucking jazz section, and the bell above the door chimes and his heart drops and kickstarts into a race all at once.

It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to register that the person wearing the pig mask is just a stupid teenager laughing with their friend, who has a Michael Myers mask on. They're loudly discussing their Halloween plans as they beeline towards the r&b section of the CDs, the tall racks obscuring them from Adam's view. He forces himself to breathe. His inhale sounds like he's just come up from underwater. Yes, he remembers now, how a Halloween-themed chain has just opened up down the block. He needs to get himself into gear, because this will surely not be a one-time event. At the very least, the mask is outlandish and cartoonish, a caricature of what's been described to police and leaked to the public.

Yet Adam cannot shake the tightness in his chest. The ball of adrenaline in his stomach, centimeters away from unfurling. He rings the kids up a few minutes later. They don't seem to recognize him and they don't seem to notice the lack of color in his face. They leave, and he's alone again, and he spends a solid two minutes fighting with himself before he's inevitably flipping the sign on the door to Closed and getting the hell out of there.

He doesn't know what he needs. An overpriced cup of coffee is what he resorts to.

The coffee place next door is immediately more inviting than his dated place of work, with its laminated floors and faux-bamboo plants. Sure beats stained 70s carpet and cobwebs. He walks in as casually as a man who just got scared of a fucking mask can, but apparently that's not casual enough, because the purple-haired cashier gives him a questioning look.

"Coffee. Just - a cup of coffee."

She tells Adam his total, and as he's fishing around for a five dollar bill in his wallet, she asks, "You cool?"

"As ice." He hands her the dollar and tells her to keep the change. She seems to be content with his response, because she turns around to pour his cup and is soon handing it to him.

When he takes it, she says, "Adam, right?"

He glances at her nametag. "Eliza, right?"

She gives him a shark-like grin. "You're like a celebrity in my friend group, dude. We think you're a total badass."

Adam takes a sip of his scalding coffee so he doesn't drop it on the floor. "You want me to stick a pen in my shoulder to write you an autograph or something?"

Her eyes bug. "Really? Can you do that?"

Next time, Adam's getting a foot massage.

-

"Like, seriously? Masks?" Adam says in disbelief. "Whose bright fuckin' idea was that?"

"You think it's in poor taste," Mrs. Riley states from her quilted armchair. Adam's pacing the room and running his fingers along just about every surface. He swallows down the impolite retort in his throat.

"It's fucking weird."

"And you're sure it was based off Jigsaw's costume, not just bad timing from the manufacturer?"

"Yeah, man, it had... hair and everything." Adam pauses at her desk, zoning out on an astronaut figurine. "This happens in horror movies, you know. I always assumed it was just a dramatic metaphor for society's desensitization or some bullshit. Come to find out, no, people really will profit off of whatever they can."

Mrs. Riley hums, her pen scratching along her notebook. "So, what will you do next time you see one of those masks?"

He swallows. He wishes he knew the answer to that - or, rather, he wishes he knew what she wanted him to say. "I don't know. Try not to get my panties in a twist, I guess."

"How about you try recognizing that your feelings toward the mask are completely valid?" she suggests. "It's okay to be offended."

"I'm not offended, okay," Adam spits out the word like it's poison. "It's just shitty to see people making a mockery of the worst day of my life."

He doesn't even have to look up at her to know she's trying to process that. It's their sixth session and Adam's first time being this open. He doesn't like it.

"And, like, are they not scared of Jigsaw coming after them?" Adam rambles on. "I mean, this sounds like something that would get on that dude's nerves. I don't know. I guess that proves that nobody takes this seriously unless they're directly affected by it, right?" He scoffs. "Well, I'd like to see if they're still prancing around in pigskin after being put in one of his stupid traps."

The silence that follows sucks the air out of the room. Adam spares a glance at her expression, which has morphed from placid to unreadable. He hates himself for ever bringing this up. He just sounds like a big fucking baby, anyway. He thinks, not for the first time: at least I'm alive.

"I'm going home."

"Adam, wait. I really think it would benefit you to talk to other survivors--"

"It was no the first time, the second time, and it's no again." Adam picks up a blue raspberry Tootsie Pop from the bowl on Mrs. Riley's desk. "Sorry to cut our date short."

-

The following weekend, Adam's at work, trying and failing to ward off an agitated headache. This place has the capability to get unbelievably busy during a Sunday afternoon, and that's what's happening. If he has to answer one more mindnumbingly obvious question ("Where would the Metallica albums be?") he may lose it. Even though it's a welcome distraction from the racing of his mind, the throbbing of his actual head counteracts that. He's been in a bad mood since that therapy appointment and it doesn't seem to plan on budging. Even the wound in his shoulder feels as if it's pulsating angrily.

His boss finally gives him a look, some impressive cross between concern and anger and exhaustion, and tells him to go home. "I don't need you scaring off the customers with your angsty teen attitude."

"I'm twenty-five."

"Act like it."

So, Adam does. After a lengthy mental debate outside of the record store, he finally makes a left to enter the coffee shop. He keeps his head down as he does and doesn't raise it until he gets to the cashier. That girl - Eliza, it was - stares at him with raised brows.

"Coffee," he says, as if he hasn't learned to speak in sentences yet.

As he hands her a five, her eyes flit between him and the corner of the room. "Are you here to meet someone?"

Adam scrunches his face. "I'm here for coffee, man. I've got a pounding headache and I could really use a caffeinated beverage to quell that, thanks."

She's pouring his coffee with her back towards him when she says, "Well, that guy in the corner keeps looking at you."

"Who--" Adam turns, and feels his stomach drop out of his ass.

Unabashedly staring back at him is the man he was trapped in a room with for hours only a few months ago. The man he stalked for three days prior to that. The doctor, Lawrence Gordon.

I really just need to go to the foot massage place.

Eliza turns back around to give him his coffee, and this time, when she looks between them, realization slaps her across the face. "Oh my God, that's--"

Adam's turning around to leave before she can finish that sentence. However, this prompts Lawrence to exclaim, "Adam!" which draws every pair of eyes in there to the two of them, and Adam cannot get out of there fast enough.

Once he's outside, he looks around in panic, suddenly forgetting which direction the bus stop is in. His hand is shaking violently around his coffee. There are too many people walking the streets, and the air smells stale and musty, and--

"Adam. Adam, it's alright. It wasn't my intention to startle you."

Adam involuntarily chokes out a strangled sort of noise. He turns his head away in shame, painfully aware of the tall - and fuck he is - figure standing next to him, leaning on a cane and sporting a pained expression. Adam forces himself to steady his breathing the way the nurse showed him to when he was in a hospital bed. It doesn't do much for the hammering of his heart. "So, the roles are reversed, eh? You following me now?" he forces out weakly. He lifts his eyes to see Lawrence's face twist at the accusation.

"My new apartment is down the block. I've been coming here every few days to exercise my walking. Wouldn't that imply that you're following me again?"

"I don't - I don't want anything to do with you," Adam musters out. His eyes haven't stayed still for more than a few seconds this entire time. Looking at Lawrence, at his slightly disheveled golden hair and his not-bone-white face, proves to be unreasonably difficult. It's too real, it's all too real.

Lawrence asks, quietly, "Do you mean that?"

As per usual, Adam doesn't know. He voices as much.

"Well," Lawrence starts, grunting softly as he leans further into his cane, "I think it could do us some good to talk sometime." He says it so clinically, like he's doing his best impression of Adam's therapist.

"How are you even walking?" Adam blurts out. "I thought you'd be in a wheelchair or some shit."

"Oh, I was." Lawrence nods. "And, sometimes, maybe I should still be. I'm just... eager to get things back on track, I suppose."

"Now that you've found the true meaning of life, right?" Adam retorts. "I bet you're so eager to go back to playing house."

He expects an argument. Wants it, even, because that would be easier to deal with than what Adam actually wants to say. You touched my wrist in that bathroom and I've felt you all around me ever since. But Lawrence only sighs and shakes his head in a display of defeat so profound that Adam's throat closes up. "I'm in the middle of a divorce right now, actually."

"Sorry to hear that," Adam says and means it. "Is Diana okay?"

Lawrence blinks for a moment before nodding. "She's hanging in there. She - we'll be alright. Are you okay?"

That question is what reminds Adam that he is very far from okay. His head and his shoulder are beginning to ache again now that the adrenaline is wearing off, and he is so very tired. The breath he intakes hurts his lungs. "I think I should go home."

Hesitation is written across Lawrence's face, but he nods nonetheless. "Can I call you a cab?"

"It's - fine. It's fine. I live across town, I take the bus."

"The bus?" Lawrence frowns at this. "Let me call you a cab."

"No, just--" Adam shakes his head frantically as he begins to walk away. "You don't need to do anything for me, fuck knows you've done more than enough."

Lawrence's face falls even harder. "Adam, I really think we should talk properly sometime. I- I live at the Greenwood apartment complex, apartment 39. Please consider--"

"What do we have to say to each other?" Adam asks harshly. "'Oh, yeah, it was real lovely facing a dire life-or-death situation with you, that was truly something.' What's the fucking point, dude? It happened. Somehow, we're both still here. I wasn't even supposed to survive and trust me, I am very fucking aware of that everyday. You were. You were supposed to, and you did. Considering I'm an anomaly here, I'd just rather forget this entire thing happened and move on with my life."

A few people have glanced at him as they pass, but Adam doesn't care. He's grown accustomed to being looked at like he's an exhibition. He cares about nothing right now except the way Lawrence levels him with the same hard stare he gave him for the majority of the time in that bathroom. "You're going to kill yourself doing that, Adam."

"At least I'll have a say in my death, then."

Lawrence, wisely, lets him depart after that. Adam disposes of his untouched coffee in a random trashcan in favor of lighting a smoke.

So much for not being an angsty teen.

-

Many of Adam's nights at home have gone a little like: doze off while watching a TV movie, startle awake after awhile, glance at the open closet door, glance at the locked front door, doze back off, rinse and repeat. Hence why most of his nights are spent at some sleazy club, kissing strangers but never taking it further. He really needs out of this shithole apartment, though, so he really needs to save his money. Therefore, he's ecstatic when he suddenly remembers the eighth he stowed away in a drawer in his now-defunct dark room. Now, he can go about his usual nightly routine, just with a little less paranoia.

The smoke does wonders for the mental cesspool he's got going on. How it's been days since he ran into Lawrence and yet he can't stop thinking about the stunted encounter. He seesaws between feeling humiliated, pissed, or just plain depressed about it. It's bothered him so much that he had no issue opening up about it to Mrs. Riley, who seemed oddly relieved to hear it. Likely because Adam finally wasn't being a waste of time.

"Do you resent him?" she had asked, the pen in her hand motionless for once.

"No," Adam replied, "I know that's weird, considering he left a hole in my shoulder. He... promised me he would bring someone back. That I'd get out of there. But I know he's not the reason I escaped because the detectives told me so."

"If I recall correctly from the reports and what I was told, it seems Lawrence did tell police about you the moment he was conscious enough to. You were discovered about thirty hours later."

"Outside of a fucking Arbys."

"On the same street as the hospital. Put there deliberately, I would assume. I'm not a detective, though." She had quirked a small smile at Adam, and if she had ulterior motives in doing so then it worked, because Adam talked about Lawrence for the rest of the session.

"I don't want to keep thinking about it. Or him. I was right when I told him we have nothing to say to each other."

Mrs. Riley had closed her notebook and sat up, her glasses nearly falling off her nose when she looked Adam straight in the eyes. "Closure is important, Adam. There is a reason many funerals are open-casket."

Closure, he thinks now, as he stares blankly at some Stephen King miniseries playing on the television. Is that what it is? If so, then maybe that's not so bad. After all, closure is a one-and-done thing. Get in, get out. It's no different from all the times he's seen one of his exes at the bar, really. Polite conversation, an acknowledgement that things that were once bad are now okay, a hug and depart. Adam's been through that song and dance more than he can count. And he wasn't locked in a bathroom with any of those people.

He didn't get paid to watch any of those people from a distance for days, either.

-

Adam's hands are on fire. He really should've asked for a drink tray - damn that overpriced coffee shop and their cheap cups. He resorts to stacking one cup on top of the other and shifting them between hands every so often like the world's most unimpressive juggler. Miraculously, he makes it to the apartment building, the elevator, and subsequently apartment 39 without spillage. Knowing his luck, they'll spill the moment Lawrence opens the door. Or worse - on Lawrence's lack of foot.

Adam knocks and waits, half of him hoping Lawrence answers and the other half hoping otherwise. It's exactly a week from when they last saw each other so Adam figured Lawrence wouldn't have anything going on during this time. And Adam will need to be back at work in forty-eight minutes, so he has an easy out if shit starts to get weird. Which is likely.

Lawrence opens the door a moment later, obviously having had looked through the peephole, because the pleasant surprise is on his face the moment Adam sees it. "Adam."

"Hope this isn't a bad time," Adam says awkwardly, "I brought coffee."

"Did you carry it like that the entire way here?" Lawrence steps away from the door and gestures inside. Adam makes his way in.

"Was I supposed to put it in my pocket?" He puts the coffees on the coffeetable in front of the sofa with great relief. "You strike me as a milk but no sugar type of guy, so that's what I got. Top one's yours."

Lawrence shuffles over to the armchair next to the sofa and sits down. "Take a seat," he tells Adam through a grimace.

Adam sits on the sofa behind him. It's stiff and uncomfortable, so new it still smells like a department store. "Everything good?"

"I'm fine," Lawrence says as he reaches for his coffee, "just a bit more pain than usual. Could be the colder weather."

"That's a real thing? I always thought my grandpa was just bullshitting."

"It's a controversy. Some scientists will tell you that change in atmospheric pressure has no effect on healing, or healed, wounds. Some may tell you the opposite. I suppose there isn't sufficient research on the topic yet, so it may be ignorant of me to make the assumption that that's the root of my increased pain. After all, healing processes are never quite linear."

Adam eyes Lawrence's leg curiously. "So you're still wearing the prosthetic, doesn't that make it hurt worse?"

Lawrence takes a long sip of his coffee before saying, "I suppose."

"You really wear it around the house like this?"

"It won't do me any good to pretend I don't need it."

Adam hums, tapping the toes of his feet against the floor as he looks around. Sans the aforementioned furniture, a television, and a bookshelf, the living room is empty. The only thing on the grey-blue walls is a framed drawing that Adam presumes was done by Diana. He veers his head back enough to see into the kitchen, which is similarly sparse. "Nice place."

"It's quiet. All of my neighbors are older than me, so it's quite peaceful."

"You must've moved out of your house pretty quickly."

He knows immediately, by Lawrence's sigh, that that wasn't the thing to say. "Adam, when I said I wanted to talk to you, I didn't mean I wanted you to interrogate me."

Adam winces, knowing he's right. He only does this because he's used to people Lawrence's age doing it to him. It's just a wall he puts up. "You're right. I just..."

"I understand. It's a lot, I know. I have to thank you for even coming. It's... nice to see you in clean clothes. With shoes on."

There's so much sincerity in not only Lawrence's tone, but his face. It makes something in Adam's chest clench. Lawrence gives him a strained sort of smile that he slowly returns. "Taking those shoes from me was actually one of the worst things Jigsaw has done."

Lawrence laughs at that, a true, genuine laugh. It's hearty like any other middle-aged man's laugh, but it's infinitely more infectious. Adam grins.

"I'm serious, I loved those things!"

Lawrence says, "Well, at least it was just the shoes and not the foot."

If he hadn't said it in such audible jest, Adam probably would've ran out of the room in humiliation. But because his eyes are sparkling, and he's smiling at Adam like Adam's an old friend, Adam laughs loudly. "That's why I'm here, huh? You just wanna one-up me."

"I'm just saying, I'm just saying..."

After their laughter dies down and they take time to sip their respective coffees, Lawrence speaks back up. "I was serious, though, it really is nice to see you... like this. Knowing you were alive but not seeing you in person was quite... strange."

"What do you mean?" Adam asks.

"I don't know how to explain it. I just..." Lawrence shifts in his armchair. At a concerning change of pace, he's now the one refusing to meet Adam's eyes, his attention down on the coffee cup in his hands. "I feel immense guilt for what transpired."

"I don't think about it," Adam admits. The words have Lawrence looking back up at him with those deep, almost doll-like eyes. Adam finds he doesn't want to look away this time. It's almost worse for them not to perceive each other. This way, at least Adam knows they're not a room apart with shackles around their ankles. "I don't. I don't think about bashing Zep's brains in, either. I'm a killer and I don't think about it, so you don't need to think about putting a hole in me. You could've done worse. Your family was at stake."

Lawrence looks taken aback. Adam can understand that. He's a bundle of resentment for a lot of things, most things really, but how could he direct that towards a man who just wanted to save his wife and child? With an innocent child in the equation - of course Adam's more disposable. Lawrence did what any good dad would do. What Adam's dad would've done. "I thought, by your reaction last week, that you felt otherwise."

"It wasn't about you." It's not a complete lie.

The older man nods like he understands. "You really... you really don't think about killing Zep? I'm not trying to make you feel bad about it. I don't think you should. I just want to know... how. How you don't."

Adam shrugs, and his voice is timid when he says, "He was going to kill you."

If Adam's being entirely honest, he expects arrogance from Lawrence, because that's what intelligent men his age are like. Especially those that think they can get away with cheating on their wives. However, the only expression Lawrence portrays is one of sadness and regret. It's so open and honest that Adam wonders if Lawrence is like this with everyone, or maybe it's a mere facade. He just can't find it in himself to believe either of those things, regardless of how pessimistic he usually is about everyone and everything.

"You deem my life so worthy that that alone is enough to abstain you from guilt?"

"I mean, yeah, man. You've got a kid. A job where you help people. You've got... a life."

"Zep had a life. You have a life."

"Bottomfeeders like me don't have much of a life to begin with, Lawrence."

Lawrence winces. "Adam, don't do that. You know I only said that out of stress."

"I don't care, you were right. Facts are facts. I'm four and a half years away from thirty and I work at a goddamn record store. And before that? I stalked people for a living. I live off of ramen and American cheese on Wonder Bread just so I can pay rent and have enough to blow on weed. You were right and that's fine."

"I was being illogical when I said that. Your state of living, or your job, doesn't determine your worth as a human. I know that now. Now that I've seen what you're capable of doing." Lawrence leans forward and places his hand on Adam's knee. Adam isn't prepared for the full-body jolt that goes through him at the touch, but he conceals it well, letting out nothing more than a small sigh. "You're a good man, Adam. Profession - or lack thereof - be damned."

Adam swallows as Lawrence's eyes bore into him. "Many people would argue with that."

"They're ignorant, then." Lawrence leans back in his chair. Adam halfway expects a Lawrence-hand-shaped hole to be on the knee of his jeans. "Besides, I seem to recall you talking about wanting to be a vet."

Scoffing, Adam shakes his head. "Nothing more than a pipe dream. I have no way of getting into school with barely any money and barely any brains."

"I've seen your intelligence, so I wouldn't say that. And anyway, there are always alternative options. Adam, you have a new shot at life. I know you don't want to waste it."

"Ugh, you've been going to those fucking survivor group therapy things, haven't you?"

"They can be beneficial. I've been hoping to see you there."

"Keep hoping." Adam looks around for a clock. "What time is it?"

Lawrence checks his watch. "Twelve fifty-two."

"Ah, shit. I'm gonna be late." He springs to his feet, nearly empty coffee cup in hand. "I have work."

"I didn't know you were on break," Lawrence says as he begins to stand. "How far is it?"

"If I run like a bat out of hell, I could make it in time." He follows Lawrence to the front door.

"Record store, you said?" Recognition passes over Lawrence's face. "You work next to the coffee place, do you?"

"If I say yes, will you abuse that information?"

Lawrence is smiling down at him as he opens the door. "Would you be opposed?"

Adam stops in the doorway. He takes one last breath of Lawrence's apartment, the vanilla and the ginger in the air, seemingly originating from Lawrence himself. He looks up again, at the man who he's seen at his most primal and deranged, and his chest hurts. He presses his lips into the ghost of a smile. "As long as you're not wielding a firearm, I guess not."

-

His head is in a flurry the entire walk back to work.

He doesn't run. He needs time to process so he doesn't lose his shit.

Connecting with Lawrence wasn't a bad thing - Adam realizes that. It was good. In fact, the forty-five minutes he spent in that apartment was the most peace he's felt in awhile. That's what scares him, the way that he had been hellbent on pushing the events of the bathroom as deep into the past as possible, until he saw Lawrence. And in Lawrence's apartment, all he thought about was the bathroom and the hours they spent together. But it didn't bother him there the way it does when he's alone in a too-quiet rat-ridden apartment. It didn't bother him much at all. That's what scares him.

To feel security in Lawrence's presence when Adam was nothing but a pawn in a game designed for Lawrence to win - it's nonsensical. They were drawn together for a sick purpose, and it's a miracle Adam's not rotting on the floor of that bathroom with a bullet in his brain. He's nothing to Lawrence except something to feel pity for. And yet, here Adam is, giving the man the okay to come visit him while he's at work. It's ridiculous.

What's even more ridiculous is the fact that Adam can't think about the way he made Lawrence laugh without his chest fluttering.

-

"You just in a perpetual bad mood lately?"

Adam frowns at his boss as the man passes. "Sorry, I forgot that my life is peaches and rainbows and that I have nothing to be stressed about."

His boss claps him on the back before continuing on his way to his office. "That's the spirit!"

The frown Adam's sporting only deepens into a scowl. Chin in his palm, he stares blankly at the desolate store in front of him while he continues to stew. He made the grave mistake of trying to call his mother last night, and it went a little like it does every time: she sounds nice for a moment, then Adam's stepdad inevitably takes over, then Adam's being berated through his tinny phone speaker. Naively, he thought maybe, just maybe, the asshole would lay off on him after hearing that he, you know, nearly died - it only seems to have pissed the douchebag off more. Adam's tired of hearing his mother cry on the other end of his phone. He's tired of her not standing up for him. He's tired of being powerless.

Rain patters against the front windows, and considering it's a Wednesday, Adam doubts there will be much traffic today. His mind teeters between how he could get Jigsaw to go after his stepdad and how long it'll take his boss to notice if he just up and leaves. He's heavily pondering the latter (likely at least two hours is his conclusion) when the bell above the door rings. Adam glances over and his brows raise at the man limping his way into the store.

"You better not be carrying," Adam remarks as he stands up a little straighter.

"Unless you consider my cane a weapon, no," Lawrence says as he approaches. He's got a proper raincoat on and he's holding a retracted umbrella in his free hand. Adam hasn't owned an umbrella since he was a child.

"You could do some damage with that, I'd bet."

Lawrence chuckles as he leans against the counter Adam's standing behind. "Slow day?"

"Business as usual. You not back at work yet?"

"They still have me locked up at home doing paperwork." Lawrence shudders like the word itself is a bad spell.

"Didn't know you'd rather be cutting people open and putting their tumors in jars."

"It has its moments."

The door to the office opens before Adam can respond and his boss peaks his head out, asking, "Adam, have you seen my green pen?" He then averts his eyes to Lawrence. "Oh, hello, is he helping you find everything alright?"

"I haven't seen your pen. And this is Lawrence, he's a friend. He won't distract me, so don't get your panties in a twist."

Boss man shrugs. "Hell, maybe he'll take you out of your sour-ass mood. Whatever keeps you from scaring off business." With that, he disappears once more. Adam sighs, staring down at the counter and Lawrence's folded arms on it, rain water smearing onto the surface.

"He seems friendly," Lawrence comments. "Sour mood?"

"Was hoping you wouldn't ask." Adam turns away and pretends to fiddle with the cash register. "Just family drama. Nothing new, that's for damn sure. Wouldn't wanna burden you with it, I'm sure you've got enough of that going on yourself."

"Unless yours is about your ex-wife and the child you share, I'm not opposed to hearing it."

"I don't want to get into it here."

"Alright," Lawrence says, "but I hope you're not running from it the way you were the bathroom."

Adam halts. His scowl from earlier returns with a vengeance. "What's it to you if I am?"

"That's no way to deal with things, Adam," Lawrence says, all doctorly and critical.

"Again, it's none of your business. I have an actual therapist, I'll have you know."

"And will she be hearing about whatever's bothering you?"

Adam shakes his head in disbelief, running a hand through his dark hair. "Did you come here just to police how I handle my problems? 'Cause newsflash, Larry, you're not the first. I've heard it all at this point."

"You need to be taking care of yourself, Adam. It's important, especially when recovering from a traumatic event. That goes for physical and mental anguish."

"Are you capable of talking like a normal fucking human being?" Adam bursts and feels satisfaction in the way Lawrence's face twists. "You do realize I'm not one of your patients."

Lawrence's face falls like he's had a great realization, and it's at that moment that Adam does, too. Suddenly, a flood of regret washes away his anger.

"Shit. Lawrence, I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to sound like... Um. The tape. I'm- I'm sorry. Fuck."

"No, Adam," Lawrence forces out, shaking his head. "No, you're right, just like he was. I need to work on not sounding so... callous. I apologize for that, and for doubting you. I'm in no position to tell you how to handle things. Especially considering I, truthfully, envy how you've handled a lot of the... situation between us."

Adam takes a deep breath. He, once again, finds solace in Lawrence's honest eyes. It's enough to ground him. "Are you okay, Lawrence?" he asks, a whisper.

Lawrence gives him a strained sort of smile. "The truth is, I will be just fine. I'm seeing a therapist of my own, and I attend the survivor group meetings. And overall, time heals all."

"A fake foot and a divorce is a hell of a lot for a guy to deal with. Seriously, man. You need to get high or something. Take the edge off. Jesus, I'd be biting off people's heads left and right if I were you."

The mirth seems to return to Lawrence, who scoffs. "I hardly need to get high. I did enough of that in university. And plenty else."

"Really?" Adam asks, wide-eyed and intrigued. "Like what? I need to hear all about the fun antics you got up to before you turned into an old tightwad."

"Oh, that is certainly nothing I'm getting into here."

"Ugh, I just want my boring shifts livened up."

"Another time, then." Lawrence draws away from the counter. "I should get back home. It's supposed to really start coming down soon. Be careful on your way home."

Adam sort of likes that Lawrence's dad trait counteracts his callousness. He sort of really likes that it's directed towards him. "You too. Have fun with your paperwork."

Lawrence lets out an overdramatic groan as he departs. Adam, for the first time today, laughs.

-

And from there on out, it's just an established routine.

Lawrence drops by every other day (sans the two days out of the week that Adam doesn't work), lingering for anywhere from five minutes to an hour. There's a unanimous agreement between them to keep all talk a light and polite banter, no deep discussions and no prodding about personal matters. Adam assumes that's the reason why Lawrence starts bringing him coffee every time he comes. He won't mention the bags under Adam's eyes, Adam knows he won't, but he's definitely noticing them. And is, therefore, spending twenty bucks a week on giving Adam mediocre coffee. Adam has to remind himself that people with money just do shit like that without thinking about it, but it still makes something strange stir in his stomach.

One day, they're sipping their respective coffees and Lawrence is scrunching his face while Adam recounts the "yellow and white shit that was oozing from my shoulder, it was crazy dude, it smelled like hot garbage too," when the door chimes open. They look over instinctively, Adam's sentence coming to a grinding stop at the sight in front of him.

Lawrence, silence for a moment, finally asks, "Are those... masks? Based off of..."

"Yeah." Adam nods sullenly as he watches the group of four teenagers bustle into the shop, all sporting pig masks. "Surprised you haven't seem 'em yet. Thank fuck tomorrow is Halloween. Shouldn't see anymore after that."

"That is incredibly distasteful." Lawrence cocks his head over to examine Adam's face. "Does it bother you?"

Adam shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "It's whatever. We wouldn't be in America if someone wasn't trying to make an easy buck off of someone else's nightmare."

Lawrence furrows his brows with an uncertain hum. They watch the kids loudly chatter amongst themselves and browse the CDs. "They'd feel bad if they recognized us, I'd bet."

"I bet otherwise. Their frontal lobes are barely done developing, dude, don't have that much faith in them. Besides, they won't recognize us."

"I'm sure you're right. Anyone who would purchase and wear that wouldn't be paying attention to the victims. I still think it's disgusting."

Adam suddenly has an insurmountable urge to grab Lawrence's hand, the one not clutching a coffee cup, the one tapping rhythmic fingers over the counter. The one that stroked across Adam's cheek when he was sobbing and bloody. He clears his throat and forces himself to look at the teenagers instead. "Does it bother you, Lawrence?"

The sigh Lawrence expels is one of exhaustion. "I wish it didn't."

-

Adam saves this, and his entire friendship with Lawrence, to tell Mrs. Riley during his final session with her. Her over-the-top approval makes him cringe.

"To bond with someone you underwent a traumatic event with is a great relief on the mind, Adam. Associating Lawrence with positivity will be very supportive in your healing process."

"I never said I associate him with positivity..." Adam grumbles.

"That's alright, you didn't have to. Your smile while talking about him was enough."

Adam's fighting a rush of blood to his cheeks the entire remainder of their session. When they finally stand as the hour runs out and shake hands, Mrs. Riley says, "Are you sure you don't want to continue your sessions?"

"I don't have insurance and I'm broke, so yeah, I'm sure."

She leads him to the door. "Well, I'm always open for one-off sessions. Just give me a call, you know the number." She holds out her bowl of Tootsie Pops and Adam picks a cherry one.

"Thanks." He unwraps it and pops it into his mouth. "By the way, my dad is dead, my stepdad abuses my mom, and I'm pretty sure the rest of my family thinks I'm a freak. Just thought I'd explain why I am the way I am. See ya."

Adam walks out of her office and subsequently the clinic with relief. He pulls his hood up to brave the early November chill and gets halfway to the bus stop before his eyes begin to water. God dammit. God fucking dammit.

The most annoying part is, he doesn't even know what's bothering him so much. Realistically, he knows it's an amalgamation of things - but things that have always been here, things he's been dealing with for over three months now, so he's not sure what's up with this delayed reaction or whatever it is. He doesn't even want to go to the bar right now because it's only going to be filled with hollow faces. People he's friendly with but don't give two shits about him. He doesn't give two shits about them, either, though, so he can't expect much. It's just -

He might not have liked Mrs. Riley all that much, but she was someone to talk to. He used to go days without talking to a single soul. Now, the idea of that makes his skin crawl.

Adam looks up and around, still sucking on his childhood favorite lollipop. He wills himself to calm the fuck down, but the more he tries, the more his throat tightens. It's only worsened when he thinks about going back home. The disdain he holds for that fucking apartment could single-handedly move mountains.

There's really only one place he can think of going where he's sure he won't be ostracized or made fun of.

He starts walking.

-

Lawrence's mouth is parted in shock. "Adam?"

"In the flesh. You busy?"

Adam knows the answer to that the moment Lawrence glances behind him. He's already berating himself for making such a stupid decision when Lawrence says, "Well, my daughter is here, but--"

Adam holds up his hands in surrender, shaking his head. "I'll get out of your hair."

"No, Adam--"

He's already beginning to back away. "Seriously, it's not a big deal, I'll just see you later--"

There's a hand around his elbow, catching him before he can get any further. Adam stills. He exercises great effort in not crumbling with relief. "Adam, it's alright. I'm about to get started on dinner, I could use some help."

Adam looks up at Lawrence, at the inviting warmth of his eyes. The fear of taking advantage of Lawrence crosses his mind and he almost laughs at the irony of it. But more than anything, he could really use a distraction.

He nods and follows Lawrence in.

Diana is the first thing he sees, seated on the couch with that near-perfect posture children have, jamming buttons on a Gameboy Advance. She glances up and gives Adam a polite smile - undoubtedly Lawrence's child. Lawrence closes the front door and shuffles in, saying, "Diana, honey, this is daddy's friend, Adam."

"Hi," Adam waves awkwardly. He hasn't been around a child in an embarrassing amount of time, and he's pretty sure the last time he was, it was a screaming toddler in Walmart that he was trying to not dropkick into the next aisle. Unsurprisingly, he does not have similar intentions with Diana Gordon. "Cool Gameboy. What are you playing?"

"Mario," she tells him.

Adam has played his fair share of Mario, but something in the way Diana's mashing those buttons leads him to believe she could absolutely kick his ass. "Are you winning?"

She shrugs. "I never lose."

He'd expect nothing less.

"Adam's going to help me cook dinner. Is that alright?"

"Yes. Don't forget the garlic bread this time!"

Lawrence laughs fondly. "I will not forget the garlic bread this time."

"I won't let him," Adam says to her, then to Lawrence, "you forgot garlic bread?!"

"It was one time!"

In the kitchen, Lawrence opens the fridge and begins retrieving random ingredients. Adam leans against the counter, watching with furrowed brows. "I got the impression you were making spaghetti."

"We are," Lawrence responds.

"Then what's all this shit for?"

Lawrence furrows his brows in condemnation. "Watch your language while my daughter's here. And this is for the sauce."

"The sauce?" Adam exclaims. "A jar of marinara isn't enough for you? What, you're too good for some store-bought Ragu?"

"It has far too much added sugar and not enough vegetables!" Lawrence sounds strangely passionate about this matter. Adam finds this endearing, though he won't mention that he can count on one hand the amount of vegetables he's had in the past month.

"How can I help?" he asks instead.

Lawrence gestures to a cutting board and knife block on the counter close to the sink. "You could dice the onion."

"Sure." Adam grabs the bagged white onion from Lawrence. He places it on the cutting board, grabs a random knife, and starts cutting. To his right, Lawrence is clicking on the gas stove and adding oil and minced garlic to a pan. It takes about a minute for Lawrence to look over at Adam and realize the piss-poor cutting job he's doing.

"No no, not like that. Here - may I help?"

Adam is pretty sure Lawrence only knows to ask someone if they need help because Diana definitely seems like the type to refuse all help. Typically, Adam is similar, but he knows he will absolutely lose his shit and possibly walk into traffic if he messes up Lawrence's dinner. So he nods.

"Okay, well first of all, you're cutting that onion with a steak knife. Second of all, you're holding the knife incorrectly, you need to be holding it closer to the blade. Here." Lawrence grabs a larger knife from the knife block and replaces the steak knife with it. His hands fumble around Adam's hand, opening Adam's fingers for him and wrapping them around the knife. "Like this. You're going to make sure your thumb is resting right where the blade starts." Lawrence presses his thumb against Adam's. He's so close that Adam can feel the heat emanating from his body, solid and warm.

"Like--" Adam's voice catches in his throat. "Like this?"

"Just like that. And when you chop the onion, you want to hold it by pressing the tips of your fingers against it. Like this." And then Lawrence is grabbing Adam's right hand and pressing his fingers down. "The onion should be where the palm of your hand is." Adam can practically feel the vibrations of his speech. He follows Lawrence's instructions and hopes his shaking isn't terribly obvious. "Alright. Now, cut it like..." Lawrence traces his finger over the onion in multiple places. "Once you have those larger pieces, then you can start chopping them into finer pieces. Doesn't have to be incredibly fine. Fortunately, I didn't raise a picky eater."

Adam lets out a shaky laugh. "I don't think it's possible for you to raise an imperfect child."

Lawrence is drawing back to go bustle around elsewhere in the kitchen. Adam exhales the breath he's been holding for the entire past minute. Lawrence's hands left sparks in their trails and now Adam's tingling hands are reaping the consequences. Blushing, Adam mentally chastises himself for wondering what those sparks would feel like elsewhere.

After a few more minutes of chopping vegetables, Lawrence says, "You can go talk to Diana, if you'd like."

"How would your ex-wife feel about the guy you survived a Jigsaw trap with conversing with your daughter?"

"I would hope she has enough sense to realize that you're just as innocent as I am in the matter. If not more." Lawrence gestures to the living room. "I don't know, Adam. We have her seeing a therapist, but she's just... she's acting nothing like I would expect a child who was held hostage for hours to act. She hardly cries, she sleeps through the night. I worry about her. The way I see it - any extra support can't be anything but good for her."

"You worry that she's not crying?" Adam asks just to be a shitass.

"Adam."

"Alright, alright. I'll go talk to her."

In the living room, Diana has gone from playing on her Gameboy to doing her math homework (voluntarily, which baffles Adam endlessly), so Adam treads carefully. He can't stress enough how much he doesn't know how to talk to children. He starts with, "Is that multiplication?"

Diana nods.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah. It's easier than division. We haven't done much of that, though. My teacher says we will after Christmas break."

"Oh, what do you want for Christmas?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. More games for my Gameboy, maybe."

Adam thinks. "You like Pokemon?"

Diana's face lights up. Adam is officially the best at talking to kids.

She's still chattering about various Pokemon types when Lawrence calls them in to eat. He has to tell her to stop talking with her mouth full multiple times, but judging by the grateful glances he keeps sending Adam's way, Adam knows he doesn't mind. They eat the best spaghetti Adam's ever had (garlic bread included) and Adam's so full he feels as if he may start rolling. Nonetheless, Lawrence leads him to the door soon after, and they step out together.

"I'm--" Adam stifles a burp. "I'm sorry, again, for just barging in like this."

"No, if anything, I'm sorry you can't stay longer. I just... have to cherish every moment I get with Diana now. The damn court seems convinced I'm this unstable man now..." Lawrence runs a hand through his hair, loosening the styling product. "Anyway, it seemed like you needed it."

Adam presses his lips together, averting his eyes. "That obvious?"

Lawrence grips his cane, stands a little taller. "We've seen each other at our worst already, Adam. I know what to look for now. I'm not going to ask you about it, but I did want to give you something long overdue."

Adam's heart leaps. "Yeah?"

Holding up a hand, Lawrence uses his other to fish in the pocket of his slacks. Between his fingers comes a sliver of torn notebook paper. "My phone number. It's silly we haven't exchanged numbers yet." He hands the paper to Adam, who takes it like it's something fragile. "I want you to call me if you ever need to talk, Adam. I'm serious."

Adam looks down at the paper, then back up at Lawrence, and says, "You're a really great dad, Lawrence."

Lawrence stares back at him, vast eyes penetrating. "I wish that was true, Adam."

"It is true," Adam insists. "Yeah, you cheated on your wife, but shit man, you love that kid in there more than anything. The way a dad should."

"That's the bare minimum."

"Bare minimum or not, plenty of dads fail to meet that standard. And she obviously feels comfortable around you. I hope the court realizes that."

"Well, thank you, I suppose. And thank you for talking to her. How did you get her to talk so incessantly?"

Adam shrugs. "Easy, I just asked her about something she loves. She's really passionate about Pokemon, dude. Make sure you get her a Mewtwo stuffed animal for Christmas."

"What-two?"

Adam laughs. "Nevermind. I'll, um..." He waves the piece of paper around. "I'll make sure to use this."

"Please," Lawrence says, and it's only then that Adam realizes that Lawrence gave him his number for his own benefit, too. There's always a little desperation in Lawrence's eyes, but it's all Adam sees now. He wants to erase it, wants to replace it with something more satiated, wants Lawrence to look at him with satisfaction instead--

"Have fun with Diana," Adam forces out, mustering a smile. "See you."

"Goodbye, Adam."

Well, Adam thinks as he steps onto the elevator, at least he has a different sort of mental turmoil to distract himself from being at home.

-

He doesn't see Lawrence much over the next few weeks. Frost begins layering the pavements, snow accompanying it intermittently. Adam doesn't necessarily want Lawrence to break his last real foot by slipping on ice, but he, selfishly, misses Lawrence's presence when he's at work. He's seen tortoises move faster than this business. He spends most of his time reading comic books, flipping the same records over and over, and dozing off until boss man flicks him on the forehead. At this point, Adam wonders if a padded room would be more stimulating. On the other hand, he's really trying not to complain, because he's being paid to do nothing and he doesn't need Jigsaw throwing him in another trap, spouting some 'ungrateful' bullshit.

He never mentioned it to Mrs. Riley, but it's one of the things that make sleep hard to come by. The possibility of being in there again. It'd be fucking stupid if that happened, considering Jigsaw obviously let Adam go, but it can't be entirely ruled out. The only difference between pre-bathroom Adam and current Adam is that he's no longer stalking people. That doesn't mean he isn't still just as pathetic as before. Therefore, a target.

During the day, it feels so implausible that he can laugh at the idea of it. In the silence of his apartment past midnight, it feels scarily tangible.

That's one of the reasons he's started going back to the clubs, the bars, the sleazy little joints where he can bum weed off of somebody. To Adam, nothing bad can happen there, even if it's a cesspool of narcissistic addicts. He's safe between the moving bodies and tinnitus-inducing music. It doesn't do much for the suffocating tightness in his chest, but he'd rather feel that than vast hollowness.

And above all, he misses Lawrence.

Realizing that is one of his more disgruntling discoveries. To get so attached to the man he was in a deathtrap with really hones in the whole 'pathetic' thing. Adam doesn't understand how it happened so fast, how one minute he couldn't think of anything worse than seeing Lawrence again, how the next he couldn't think of anything worse than never seeing Lawrence again. He'd love to brainwash himself into believing it's just some trauma-bonded bullshit, but he knows that's not the case. He likes Lawrence's presence. He likes the stupid way Lawrence talks, he likes the way Lawrence looks at him, he most definitely likes Lawrence's hands on him, in any sort of matter. Because it makes him feel safe.

For a brief moment, back in that bathroom, laying on the floor with Lawrence's forehead pressed against his own, Adam felt safe. In the midst of hell itself, security was found, no matter how fleeting. The only place he can continue to find that feeling is in Lawrence. It's just Adam's luck that on top of that, Lawrence is a kindhearted person who has more respect for Adam than all of his exes combined. When Adam was following Lawrence around, seeing his stupid regimented doctor life, he never would've thought that the two of them could be capable of having full-on conversations, with banter and jokes and actual support.

Hell, it may not even last. Lawrence is going to go back to work eventually. Humans adapt to everything, and soon, Lawrence will be back in his same pattern as before, just without the shackles of a wife he doesn't love. Adam will be nothing more than a distant thought.

And Adam himself will still be here, still mentally in that place, still feeling the tearing of his lungs when Lawrence crawled away from him.

Still reaching.

-

For that reason, Adam doesn't call Lawrence until a particularly bad night.

It's the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and Adam's pacing circles in his apartment. He's not working for the next four days, because boss man can somehow afford to go be with family and shut the place down for that long (seriously, money laundering), and it's already doing a number on him. What the fuck is he going to do, if not work? He can hardly afford to get anymore weed and there's only so many dicks he can suck to get some before he starts to feel like a used-up whore. He's got nothing for the next four days and the four days have hardly started and he's already losing his shit.

It's not easy, dialing those numbers. He stares at the phone for a long time, thinking about everything from the (very likely) possibility of Lawrence being busy to the dreadful phone bill he's gonna have to pay. But, Adam figures, if Lawrence really will move on with his life once he's back at work, Adam may as well take advantage of him being there while he can. So, he presses call.

The phone rings. And rings. And rings.

There's a dial tone.

Adam drops the phone and slides his hands over his face. He has to be a whole new breed of stupid to think Lawrence would answer a call at eleven the night preceding a holiday. And even if he did, he probably wouldn't wanna linger. Adam leans back against his raggedy sofa and exhales, willing himself to not stand up and punch a hole in the drywall. Rather than do that, he turns on his television and resumes watching whatever movie he has in the VHS player - Twister, it seems.

The next thing he knows, something is ringing, and the source is in his lap. This makes for an interesting post-sleep still-dreaming state of mind where he's convinced his dick is an alarm clock, but thankfully he snaps into consciousness before the ringing ends and is able to answer the phone with a groggy, "Hello?"

"Adam?"

Adam's tongue feels like it's made of oversized cotton balls when he replies, "Lawrence?"

"I figured it was you who called."

"Could've been a foreign scammer."

"Even foreign scammers sleep, Adam." There's a frazzled, out of breath quality to Lawrence's voice that has Adam drawing in a breath.

"You alright there?"

"I'm alright. I just, well, I tripped on my way to my cellphone."

"You tripped?!" Any hint of perversion has completely evaded Adam's mind. "Are you okay?"

Lawrence chuckles, more at himself than anything. "I'm fine. I get a little... overzealous sometimes. Biting off more than I can chew. I'm alright. My hip will be alright."

"Dude, do we need to get you a caretaker?" Adam asks seriously. "Sure we can find you a pretty young lady to give you sponge baths and change your bedpan for you."

"Ha, ha. I'm faring just fine on my own, thank you."

The forced arrogance in Lawrence's voice has Adam suspicious of that claim. "Are you?"

A beat, and then, "Adam, why did you call?"

Oh. Adam was hoping they wouldn't get this far. "Um... I..." He looks around desperately. "I needed help with... a leak."

"Wow, even over the phone you're a terrible actor."

"Oh, are you going to electrocute me, too?"

Lawrence's voice is quiet when he says, "So that's what you're thinking about."

"Yeah, and I'm fucking sick of it." The words warble with frustration. "I just want to put it behind me, that so fucking much to ask?"

"You can't do that by continuing to ignore it. You're just allowing it to fester."

"I don't--" Adam squeezes his eyes shut, pinches his brows. "I'm tired, Lawrence."

"Okay. How about you tell me about your day?"

It's bizarre, Adam thinks, that Lawrence just gets him so effortlessly. That he hears the blanket statement of being tired as what Adam truly means by it. That he knows how to change the subject, he knows when to stop pushing. Thinking about it makes Adam a little lightheaded. So, he proceeds to tell Lawrence about wrapping up at work, how two people got in a fight over Depeche Mode and had to be escorted out, how he picked up nothing but spam and ramen from the dollar store (Lawrence grunts at this), how a cat kept following him on his way home and he spent thirty minutes sitting outside in the cold petting it. It's far from what most would consider an interesting day, but Lawrence 'hmm's and 'ahh's and laughs when he needs to.

When he finishes his spiel and asks Lawrence about his day, Lawrence says, "Oh, just good ol' paperwork."

Adam furrows his brows. "This entire time, I thought you would be like, in the guest bedroom of a family member's house or some shit. Considering tomorrow is..."

Lawrence sighs. "I'm being cowardly, to be frank."

"How so?"

"I'm afraid to face my family after what I've been though. My parents are old, Adam. My father's about lost his damn mind, my mother is quite... old-fashioned. They're hosting Thanksgiving, which is always a large ordeal, and I don't think I have it in me to face them, the rest of my family, and the countless other guests."

"That's not cowardly, Lawrence, shit, that's smart. Who would want to go to a Thanksgiving where they're just going to be pestered with questions and judgement the entire time?"

"That's... true."

"Plus, what if you tripped and landed on the turkey?"

"Oh, stop it. I hear you trying not to laugh. Stop imagining me falling into poultry."

Adam cackles. "But it's such a funny image!"

"I'm glad you're amused," Lawrence grumbles, but ends it with a chuckle. "Anyway, thank you for your insight, Adam. I know this may seem shocking, but I do admire your rebellious attitude."

"Someone's got to." Adam grins. "So, what, you spending tomorrow with Diana?"

"No, unfortunately, Ali has her. They're at Ali's parents' house, where I'm sure lovely things are being said about me."

"That's bullshit. So you're gonna be... alone?"

"There's no need to rub salt in the wound, Adam."

"Sorry, sorry." Adam bites his lip, toying at a loose thread in his couch cushion. He clears his throat and dissolves into the jesting front he's familiar with putting on. "Well, hey, there's always next year, yeah? By then, you'll have a pretty nurse to celebrate Thanksgiving with. She'll probably let you lick whipped cream off of her tits."

He's immediately upset with himself for voluntarily invoking the mental image of Lawrence using his tongue like that.

"Hm, so, do tell me, what are you going to do tomorrow, Adam?"

"I got invited to a party that an old friend is hosting, but..." He looks up at the popcorn ceiling. "Guess I don't want to go for the same reasons you don't want to go to your family's."

"Really?" Lawrence sounds surprised. "You think your friends would act... terribly?"

Adam snorts. "Hardly my friends, Lawrence. More like people I'm unfortunate enough to bump into every time I'm at the bar."

"So, you plan on being alone tomorrow too, then."

"No, actually. I was gonna pull up my big boy panties and go, but..." He bites his lip and almost wishes his phone had a cord so he could twirl it around his finger. "I'm sensing there may be an alternative."

Lawrence hums, low in his throat, and his speech is just as hushed when he asks, "And what might that be?"

Jesus Christ, the back of Adam's neck should not feel as warm as it does right now. "I could be your stand-in, non-sexy, non-female, non-nurse."

"What does that make you, then?"

"A boring dude that you can't help but feel sorry for."

"I'd feel more sorry for the nurse, I think." Lawrence chuckles away the flirtatious air they'd established, and Adam can't tell if he's upset about that or relieved. "If you'd really rather spend your Thanksgiving cooped up with a cripple than partying, then I'd enjoy hosting you, yes."

Adam scrunches his face. "Okay, first of all, do not start self-deprecating, that's weird as fuck coming from you and I'm the one that has to carry all the existential angst, alright? You just sit back and be footless or whatever." He pauses to let Lawrence laugh, smiling. "Second of all... what should I bring?"

"Whiskey," Lawrence says without a beat.

"Of course. Of fucking course." Adam rolls his eyes. "You old dudes are all the same. Okay, yes, I'll get whiskey."

"Wonderful. That's all, then."

"Sure you don't want me to bring some whipped cream?"

"Oh, goodnight, Adam."

-

Lawrence's apartment, while still a bit lifeless and barren, certainly feels like Thanksgiving.

There's a baked chicken in the oven ("What'd you plan on doing, sitting in front of the TV and chowing down on an entire chicken by yourself?" Adam had asked just to be annoying - he's done more depressing things than that), mashed potatoes and stuffing on the stovetop, and pumpkin pie from a local bakery in the fridge. Although Adam had teased him about it, the idea of Lawrence being alone today makes him want to go back to the bathroom and bash in Jigsaw's brains the way he did Zep. Lawrence shouldn't be alone today, even if someone out there thinks he deserves it for being an adulterer.

At the very least, he's stuck with Adam.

"Would this have been your first Thanksgiving alone, in like, years?" Adam voices the thought from the dining table as he watches Lawrence check the temperature of the chicken.

Lawrence shoots him a scorned look over his shoulder but says, "Yes, actually. Thank you for reminding me."

"Sorry, it's just..." Adam shakes his head. "I'm sorry that it has to be this way, I guess."

The older man shrugs. He has his reading glasses on, yet another thing Adam teased him about, but Adam's finding it a little hard to look away from those stupidly attractive glasses. "I should have been a better man."

"You can't possibly think you deserve this."

"It's more that... these are the consequences of my own actions. This would've happened regardless of the bathroom. Eventually, that is."

Adam hums, thinking. "Will you be mad if I ask why you did it?"

"Yes, Adam, yes I will be."

"Why'd you do it?"

"Ah," Lawrence groans, shaking his head. "You sound like a child, you know that?"

Adam does know that. It's not the first time he's been told that. It's not intentional on his part - he doesn't want to come off as a pestering kid full of too many 'why's. "Okay, I'm legitimately curious, I swear. C'mon, Lawrence, you really think I'd judge you? After the shit I've seen?"

"Is it not occurring to you that this isn't a conversation suited for Thanksgiving of all holidays?"

"What do you mean? This is pretty tame compared to my family on Thanksgiving."

"Chicken needs about ten more minutes," Lawrence informs him as he examines his thermometer. "And anyway, ask me again when I've had some of your cheap whiskey."

Adam heeds that advice, and as it turns out, Lawrence after a couple drinks is a lot looser than normal Lawrence, even with a stomach full of Thanksgiving food. Adam, who never drinks whiskey because he hates how somber it makes him, almost fears what Lawrence will say.

He's certainly not ready for Lawrence to admit, "It was all me."

"Come on, she had to have done something. There's no way you just... hit the off switch on your marriage."

They're seated in the living room, the television muted on some channel playing reruns of Cheers, Adam on the couch and Lawrence in his armchair. Adam's not very fond of that minuscule distance. The urge to run his fingers through Lawrence's hair is growing larger with each drink he takes.

"But I did," Lawrence says, his eyes glassy. "We argued about things the way normal couples do, sure, but she was... perfect. A little too stuck in her ways and narrow-minded, but perfect."

"Weird," Adam says. "All the other guys I used to stalk usually seemed like they had a reason. But I guess I always thought you seemed a little lost. Mid-life crisis, eh?"

Lawrence looks at him for the first time in awhile. "A crisis, indeed."

Adam suddenly feels the need to hide behind his glass of whiskey. "Um, she seems like a good mom, at least."

"Oh, she's wonderful. Diana adores her. As I said... perfect." Lawrence drags a hand over his face. "I don't know why I messed things up with someone so perfect."

"If you're unhappy, you're unhappy, man. Can't change how you feel." Adam knocks back the rest of what's in his glass before rising to his feet. "I feel like you need pumpkin pie now."

"Please."

He brings the pie to the living room along with two forks, and after minimal mental debate, he sits on the armrest of Lawrence's chair and holds the pie low enough for Lawrence to reach. Together, they eat cold pumpkin pie in relative silence, other than Adam giggling when their forks accidentally clink together and he tries to make them fight. Half of the pie has been consumed when he finally says, "This is damn good pie, dude."

"I know, right?" Lawrence agrees with his mouth full. Adam snickers. He's glad for any sort of distraction that prevents him from thinking about how close he is to Lawrence, how effortless it would be to slide into his lap, how easy it would be to straddle him and tear that ugly-ass brown cardigan off of him. He glances back at Lawrence as if Lawrence would be glaring daggers at him, reading his perverted mind, but Lawrence is simply chewing on pie crust. There's some on his bottom lip and Adam's gaze lingers on it until he forces his eyes back to the pie.

"Was never a huge pumpkin pie fan as a kid," Adam says, if only so his mind stops trailing and he single-handedly proves that whiskey dick has never affected him.

"It's the only pie I've ever liked, actually."

"What about chocolate pie?"

Lawrence grimaces. "I'm not fond of chocolate unless it's dark."

"You are so fucking predictable it's sickening. Actually sickening. You need to tell me about those uni antics you mentioned awhile back, because I need you to surprise me, like, stat."

"Frankly, I was so high most of the time that I don't even remember it all."

Adam sputters a laugh at that, nearly spraying pumpkin pie across the room. When he looks back at Lawrence, he's smiling. "And yet you still got good grades?"

"Yes, because I was high. I would've crumbled underneath the stress if not." Lawrence shoves a particularly large bite of pumpkin pie in his mouth with his brows knit in contemplation. "Let's see... well, streaking definitely wasn't uncommon for me."

Adam's eyes bug out of his head. "What?" he asks, voice warbled by pumpkin pie.

Lawrence grins deviously. "Just kidding, but wow, you were right. Surprising you is fun."

"Evil man. Evil, evil man."

Adam doesn't ask anymore questions about that time period of Lawrence's life because he really doesn't need more provocative images in his head right now.

He's a little dejected when they finish the pie and he has no reason to be so close to Lawrence anymore, but the wine they drink makes up for it. Lawrence gets a little lighter and smiles a little more, and that alone is enough to elevate Adam's mood. The sun sets while they have casual conversation and watch Cheers. Adam has the distant thought that Lawrence looks kinda like Santa Claus with his cheeks all rosy and his smile so wide, just younger and skinnier and sexier. Especially the latter.

"Back when this show was on, I used to think the series finale was gonna be about Sam getting a boyfriend."

"What?" Lawrence laughs. "A good chunk of his personality centers around being a womanizer."

"Exactly why I thought it would happen. Such a good twist, right?" Adam grins from where he's sprawled out on the couch. "Besides, I don't know, I get the vibes."

"You get the what?" Lawrence is still smiling but it's a confused sort of thing that suddenly has Adam feeling a warped sense of superiority.

"Yeah, man. I see myself in him, yaknow." Adam conceals the devilish smirk he knows is growing on his lips. "Though I'd rather see him in me, if you know what I mean."

"Wait--" The smile falls from Lawrence's face and all that's left is confusion. Adam enjoys this too much, in spite of the regret he knows he'll feel soon. "You--?"

"You can say it, it's okay, I won't tell the teacher."

"But you- did you not have a girlfriend?"

"She was like... my last straw," Adam explains as he reflects on that disaster of a relationship. "She was the last of three girls I dated to try to convince myself that I could be, you know, at least a little straight. And, come on man, vegan feminist punk? She literally looked like a guy. Unfortunately, she wasn't packing the parts I was looking for."

"How did I not know this?" Lawrence questions, dumbfounded.

Adam eyes him from the end of the couch. "Is it... important?"

"W-well, I--" Lawrence's voice catches in his throat. He clears it with a swig of wine. "I suppose not. I just. Well. I thought I would be able to tell, is all."

"People your age always say that." Adam rolls his eyes. "Sorry, I should've packed the stilettos and corset."

"I didn't mean like that. I don't believe in offensive stereotypes. I just... I guess I thought I had you more figured out."

"Oh?" Adam flops to the end of the couch closest to Lawrence, his chin in his hand. "So, what other inaccurate assumptions did you make about me?"

"I thought you were lazy," Lawrence admits, "I thought that you didn't want to work a better job. Until I realized that the opportunity has just never arisen for you."

"And until you realized that I'm not capable of much, right?"

Lawrence scowls as if Adam's said something despicable. "I never once felt that way about you, Adam. And I've only gotten further from that feeling the more I've spoken to you."

"But let's be real, what am I capable of?" Adam asks seriously. "I mean, I don't really have any skills except photography, and where the fuck is that going to get me in life? Obviously, it only bit me in the ass."

"Believe me when I say you are capable of so much, Adam." The sheer sincerity behind Lawrence's eyes is so intense that Adam has to look away. "And I think you know me well enough by now to know that I wouldn't lie to you."

Adam inhales so sharply it hurts. He swallows it down and tries not to tremble. "Lawrence, how did you escape?"

On television, the audience is laughing at something Woody Harrelson said, and outside, there are distant sirens, and none of it is as loud as Adam's heartbeat in his ears. He can't look at Lawrence. The way the air between them has stiffened is more than enough for Adam. When Lawrence starts talking, Adam has to grip a throw pillow. "I cauterized my wound and passed out. After that, it's a blur. I recall... him. Jigsaw, I suppose. He told me that I earned another chance at life... something along those lines. The next time I came to, I was in the hospital."

Adam's stomach churns. "And he hasn't tried to find you or anything? You haven't spoken to him since? That seems pretty fuckin' weird, Lawrence, don't lie to me about this--"

"Adam. Look at me." Adam obliges with much force. Lawrence is leaned forward, every part of him gravely serious, from the draw of his brows to the stiffness of his posture. "The truth is the least that you deserve. I know it's nonsensical that either of us, let alone both of us, would be let go. But we were. I was told your story, Adam. How you were put a half a mile away from the hospital, drugged and malnourished. Deliberate, as it was with me. I don't think it was done by the same person, but I absolutely know it was somebody that works with Jigsaw."

"How? How do you know that? You think he has little helpers or some shit? Like fuckin' Santa?" Adam laughs humorlessly. "That doesn't sound like him."

"I know it doesn't, Adam. I can't explain it. It just doesn't make sense that he would make you rot in there for two days and then impulsively change his mind to let you go. It's almost as if he was swayed."

"By this alleged apprentice, right?"

"Presumably."

He laughs again. "This is fucking crazy, Lawrence."

"My only point in telling you all of this is to emphasize the fact that I'm being honest to you. I know as much as you do about it all and I can promise you that." Lawrence frowns. "Are you alright?"

Adam sniffs and attempts to blink away the stinging of his tear ducts. When that comes to no avail, he rises to his feet, shaking his head dismissively. "I'm fine. Just tired, maybe I should head home, it's getting late." He moves to leave, but the hand wrapping around his wrist halts him in his steps. He sucks in his lips, looking down at Lawrence who levels him with a concerned stare.

"You're near drunk, Adam."

"So what? I didn't drive here."

"I'd feel better if you just spent the night."

"That's--" Adam shakes his head vigorously. His chest feels so tight and his stomach so sick and Lawrence is just. He's too perfect, he's too flawed, he's too good, he's too bad. Adam feels so much for him that it aches. He wishes he could go back to an hour ago when his biggest problem concerning Lawrence was trying not to hump him. That was so much easier than whatever clusterfuck has made a home inside his body right now.

"Please, Adam," Lawrence whispers. His thumb traces over Adam's wristbone rapidly, like he's trying to soothe both Adam and himself. "Just stay tonight." He grips Adam's wrist a little tighter and Adam feels the plea in it.

He asks, impossibly quiet, "Do you need me as much as I need you?"

Lawrence says, "More."

-

Adam falls asleep on Lawrence's couch an hour later. When he wakes up, he'll distantly remember the hands securing a blanket over him, the hushed 'goodnight,' the thumb sweeping across his cheek and the lips on his forehead.

-

Regret and Adam go way back. They're well-acquainted at this point, even. So when Adam wakes up early the next morning, with a stiff neck that exaggerates his blooming headache, he doesn't make any rash decisions. Rather, he takes his sweet precious time stumbling to the bathroom, pissing a record-worthy amount, splashing water on his face and washing his mouth out with the mouthwash he finds underneath the sink. Then, he quietly makes his way to the front door to put on his shoes and coat. That is, until the sound of a, "Good morning," stops him in his tracks.

Acknowledging Lawrence's presence makes the regret all the more worse until Adam is gritting his teeth in a full-body cringe. "Morning," he says.

"I was just about to get started on breakfast. Do you like blueberry pancakes?"

Fucking hell. How does Lawrence know his favorite breakfast food? How does Lawrence know that it's been years since he's had blueberry pancakes and he's been craving them for months? And most importantly, how does Lawrence know that the prospect of having said pancakes is enough to prevent Adam from leaving?

Adam trudges to the kitchen and flops down in a dining chair. In seconds, Lawrence is putting a glass of ice water and an aspirin in front of him. "Have this before I give you any coffee."

Adam groans but obliges. While he drinks the water, he watches Lawrence bustle around the kitchen, fiddling with the coffeemaker and turning on the oven and readying a pan. Adam finds it in himself to ask, "What's going in there?"

"Turkey bacon." Lawrence pulls the meat out of the fridge as he says it and proceeds to slide his reader glasses on to examine the packaging. Adam may do something drastic, such as jump out the window or put himself in the preheating oven.

Instead, he says, in exasperation, "They baconize turkeys now?"

He sits there as Lawrence prepares breakfast for them. He refuses all of Adam's offers to help, which is no problem to Adam, who is still trying to tether himself to reality. That doesn't work until he's halfway through his (fucking delicious) meal of pancakes and bacon. He has the thought that Lawrence is actually taking care of him right now, what with his concerned glances and the way he keeps scrambling to fill up Adam's glass of water before it even gets half empty. That realization has his head swimming all over again.

"I said a lot of dumb shit last night," he blurts out. Lawrence raises his brow as he cuts into a pancake.

"As did I. As do a lot of people who drink too much cheap whiskey and wine, I'm sure."

His calmness frustrates Adam. "I'm trying to apologize here."

Lawrence scoffs in amusement. "No need."

"No need? I literally tried to make you uncomfortable with my raging homosexuality. God, what else did I say about Ted Danson?" Adam presses his hand to his warm forehead. "I'm sorry."

"Adam, I hardly remember it. What I do remember is having a good time with you." Lawrence makes a face. "Did we eat an entire pumpkin pie out of the tin?"

"If that's the worst thing about last night to you, then yes, yes we did. Damn good pie, too." Adam pushes a stray blueberry around with his fork. "You really had a good time?" he asks meekly.

Lawrence's hand is suddenly around Adam's free hand. It's warm and electrifying and Adam stills. "Thank you for spending Thanksgiving with me, Adam," he says earnestly.

Adam nods, slowly then rapidly. "Yeah, no problem. Didn't know if I could find time in my busy schedule to be here, but I'm glad I could."

"Well, I hope you don't have many plans for today."

Adam's heart flips. "Why?"

"Have you looked outside? There was a snowstorm overnight. Many of the roads are closed and the busses are shut down."

Adam springs to his feet. He peers out the living room window and has to squint at how bright the snow is in spite of the thick clouds covering the sky. The streets are eerily desolate. "Well, shit."

Minutes later, he helps Lawrence tidy up the kitchen, the two falling into a motion so fluid it's as if they've been doing it for years. Adam chooses not to think about that, and it's easy not to, because he's already too preoccupied thinking about how he misses living in a place that isn't utter dogshit. Most of Lawrence's kitchenware is newly purchased, sleek and shiny, and Adam doesn't even have a full set of silverware. The very idea of Lawrence being in his apartment is humiliating. A little amusing, too, but mostly humiliating.

He's broken out of his trance when Lawrence stands in front of where he's leaned against the counter, holding the plates they just ate off of, freshly washed and dried. Lawrence opens a cabinet above Adam's head and slides the plates in. "These go up here," he says, like that at all justifies him being so close that Adam can smell the fucking laundry detergent on his shirt. Adam dares a glance downwards and nearly makes an audible sound at how close their groins are. Lawrence shuts the cabinet and moves away, but not before briefly tracing his hand over Adam's side, a sensation that instantly prickles Adam's arms with goosebumps.

"Think I'll use the leftover chicken from yesterday to make chicken noodle soup for dinner," Lawrence informs him as he wipes a pan dry. He bends over to put it in a cabinet next to the oven and Adam thinks, oh my God this is how I die. Lawrence is going to kill me and not in the way I thought he would.

"Sounds good," Adam forces out. He guesses he's staying for dinner, then.

-

It's not awkward. Actually, the lack of awkwardness is a pleasant surprise. They watch a few movies (Lawrence pays for premium cable, so he gets the good shit), annotating them with stupid banter, until Adam dozes off on the couch. When he wakes up, it's mid-afternoon and snowing again, and Lawrence is doing paperwork in his armchair.

"Are your papers on a cutting board?"

"I needed a flat surface!"

Adam shakes his head, grinning as he rises to his feet and stumbles to the bathroom. While he's pissing, he's acutely aware of how chilly it's getting. So, once he's returned to the living room, he asks, "What's the thermostat set on?"

"Sixty-nine, it should be," Lawrence replies, his reading glasses on the tip of his nose as he writes.

Adam snickers childishly before going to check the thermostat in the hallway. To his confusion, it's at sixty-five. He relays this back to Lawrence.

"That's strange," he says, "try putting it on sixty-nine."

Adam does and waits for the sound of the heater humming to life. When it fails to occur, he frowns. "Uh, Lawrence, I think your heater may be busted."

Lawrence mirrors his expression. "If that's the case, then it must be affecting the entire building, not just me. Surely, they'll have it fixed within the hour."

"It's the Friday after Thanksgiving," Adam reminds him.

"Yes, and I pay two thousand dollars a month to live here. I expect it to be fixed soon."

Within an hour, Lawrence is in the kitchen preparing their dinner. And even after all of the ingredients are in the pot and the only thing left to do is wait, he lingers near the stove. Adam comes in to find him buttoning up his cardigan, fingers shaky.

"You're that cold already?" Adam asks incredulously, though he tightens the fleece blanket he's wrapped around himself.

"I'm alright," Lawrence says. There's something in his tone that gives Adam pause.

"Why not make some tea?" he suggests. "I saw your collection when we were putting away dishes earlier. I had no clue there's so many goddamn teas."

"Tea," Lawrence repeats, nodding. "Tea, yes, that's a good idea. I'll make some tea. How about you pick the flavor while I start the kettle?"

Adam salutes him. "On it, boss."

He picks blueberry hibiscus even though he has no clue what a hibiscus is. Lawrence tells him it's a flower, which makes him a little hesitant, but about ten minutes later he finds out it makes a damn delicious tea. Some of the tension has melted off of Lawrence, too, so it's a win.

They stand in the kitchen, leaned against opposite counters, sipping their scalding beverages in relative silence. Adam can't believe he's been here for over a day now. He can't remember the last time he was at someone else's house for this long without getting kicked out. He keeps expecting Lawrence to usher him home, but he's not getting that intruding vibe. If anything, Lawrence has grown more welcoming with each hour. It's sorta fun, pretending he lives in a place where he doesn't have to bang the television to clear the static, or let the tap water run for at least ten seconds so he avoids the orange-brown water, or just accept the rats that scurry behind the furniture at night. Lawrence's apartment, while sterile and barren, at least feels like a home.

Plus, Adam's sure his own heater stopped working hours ago, anyway. In fact, the power probably went out entirely, rendering his space heater useless as well. Fuck, he's glad to be here.

The soup is ready after awhile, so they migrate to the table to eat. Adam's not the biggest soup fan, so he mostly just pours a shit-ton of soup crackers into the bowl and eats it that way, which, thankfully, seems to amuse Lawrence more than offend him. And once they've finished eating and have cleared the table, Lawrence pulls out a deck of cards and shows Adam how to play some card game he's never heard of and is pretty convinced Lawrence made up, but enjoys nonetheless. It's fine, until Adam says, "Okay, these Ikea chairs are bruising my ass. I gotta go back to the couch."

Lawrence presses his lips together into what's supposed to be a smile but resembles more of a grimace. "Of course. You go ahead, I'll finish cleaning up the kitchen."

Adam takes his tea into the living room and immediately shivers. It's not, like, inhospitably cold, but it's undeniably chill. He nurses his cup of tea on the couch, bundled in two of Lawrence's throw blankets, which he's quickly finding out are more decorative than insulated. It takes about twenty minutes of him zoning out on the evening news to realize that Lawrence hasn't emerged from the kitchen yet.

"You better be making me a dessert in here," Adam jokes as he enters the kitchen. His smirk falls upon seeing Lawrence, who is seated at the dining table doing, what appears to be, nothing at all. "Lawrence?"

Lawrence regards him with enough anxiety to be jarring. He's never seen Lawrence particularly anxious - nervousness is one thing, and full-blown panic is another, but this is a whole different level. Adam doesn't like it at all. He sits across from Lawrence with hesitation. "What's wrong?" he asks.

Lawrence is drumming his fingers against the table and shaking his head as if to rid himself of thoughts. "It's n--"

"Okay, I'm gonna need you to stop downplaying shit like this. Even just for once. You literally cannot convince me that you're just peachy right now. I have eyes, you know." Adam folds his arms on the table and leans closer. He asks again, softly, "What's wrong, man?"

Lawrence looks between him and the floor underneath their feet a few times before finally succumbing. With a sigh and a trembled chuckle, he says, "It's- it's just the cold. It. Bothers me, I suppose."

"The cold?" Adam repeats, realization smacking him across the face the moment the words leave his tongue. "Oh. Oh, shit. I had no idea."

"Well, how would you?" The rate at which his fingers move grows rapid. "It hasn't been bothering me outdoors because I know that there's always somewhere warm I can walk into. And usually, that warm place was... well, my home. But now it's... it's not even that cold in here, I realize that. It just feels like it's getting... colder." Lawrence swallows audibly. "Do I sound insane?"

"Insane?" Adam parrots in disbelief. "Insane? No, dude, my God. You were worried about Diana not having much of a reaction to her trauma, shit man, I was worried about the same thing for you. It's sorta a relief hearing you say all this. I mean, it's not a good thing. But it's--" he stops and clears his throat, taking a deep breath before resuming, "if you think you're insane for this, you'll think I belong in a straitjacket for the shit I feel."

"I know it's likely a normal response to... trauma, it just seems so... weak."

Impulsively, Adam grabs Lawrence's hand with his own, halting his movements. He turns Lawrence's hand over and presses his palm to Lawrence's fingers, letting his own rest against Lawrence's palm. Their hands look nice together, Adam thinks for a second. His lanky, nimble fingers against Lawrence's larger, steadier ones. He tears his gaze away and back up to Lawrence's face. "You're not weak, are you kidding? You're the furthest thing away from weak. You can't control how you feel. Trust me, I've spent my life trying to do that. Plus, dude, I don't think anyone who knows what you've been through would ever use the word weak to describe you."

"This is just so- powerless."

"You don't have to feel that way, though. Listen man, I'm not a licensed official or anything, so I don't really know what to say to help here, but I can promise you that you're never, not in a million fucking years, going to be cold like you were in that place ever again. If that means no vacation to Antarctica, then I guess you'll just have to live with that."

Lawrence is silent for a long moment, the knit of his brows unreadable. Then, he says, "...Well, hell. I was really looking forward to Antarctica."

"I can cover the place in white packing peanuts and get on all fours and pretend to be an angry polar bear, if that would help."

"I'll consider it." Lawrence cracks a small smile. "Thank you for your words, Adam. They do help. I'm still just..."

"Hey, minds are like that. There's no instant fix for that shit, yaknow? Just temporary relief or whatever. I don't know, my therapist said that once."

"Hm." Lawrence makes a face. "Adam, I should probably share something with you."

"Do I even want to know? It's never ended well when a guy has said that to me."

Lawrence smiles guiltily and rubs his index finger over the blue-green vein on Adam's wrist. "I admit, I've been keeping something from you. I just beg that you keep this between us."

"I don't know whether to be freaked out or excited," says Adam, who is both.

"Maybe neither. Ah..." Lawrence clears his throat. "Well, let's just say. I've always known you worked at the record store."

Adam gasps dramatically. "Holy shit, you were following me!"

"No! ...Well, maybe, but no, not like that. See I... I wanted to contact you so desperately, I just didn't know how you'd react and... I'll just say it. Mrs. Riley used to work at the hospital I work at. We're friends. I heard she was counseling you, and... I asked. But that's the extent of it, I promise, that's the only information she shared with me. I don't know anything else except where you work."

"What?" Adam immediately laughs. His heart is hammering in his chest - for most people, it would probably be from fear. Adam knows well enough that for him, it's the opposite. He's fucking swooned. "Doesn't that violate some laws?"

"Well- a little. But it was only because I didn't know how you'd react."

"So you stalked me. How long did you plan on sitting in that coffee shop, waiting on the off chance that I would come in?"

"I don't know. Prefer not to answer." Lawrence shifts in his seat. "I'm genuinely sorry, Adam. I don't know why the thought of calling you or knocking on your door was so intimidating. I acted like a child." He starts to pull his hand away, but Adam holds it tighter, causing Lawrence to meet his eyes.

Adam says, "Hey, we're even now. Can't say anyone I stalked ever stalked me back. You're one of a kind." If he ends the words by biting his lip and fluttering his lashes like a goddamn schoolgirl, well, that's between Adam and God.

Lawrence ducks his head, chuckling. "Oh, I wouldn't go that far."

"You violated HIPPO laws and put your job in jeopardy just for me. That's an impressive level of stalking, really." 

"It's HIPAA, and please, don't go around saying those things. Both Ashley and I could lose our jobs, remember."

"Mrs. Riley's name is Ashley? Ashley Riley?" Adam's eyes widen. "Is she a pornstar? Because I swear I've seen that name behind the beaded curtain at the video store."

"Ah, yes, because it would make so much sense for her to be a therapist by day and an adult film star by night."

"Hey, I don't know the pay. Anyway, this is so weird, you know she used to be like, horrified of me, right? Her face would get all green the moment I opened my mouth."

"Yes, I know the situation bothered her quite a bit. I had to reassure her often, she always seemed like she was on the verge of fainting when she looked at my leg."

"Could they not have put someone more... desensitized on the job?"

"I don't think many people were willing. Some other survivors have already scared their respective therapists away. Plus there's the legal side of things..." Lawrence sighs. "A mess."

"Ugh, spare me the details of that." Adam waves a hand dismissively. "Let's try going to the living room now. I don't know how your ass feels intact after sitting in these fucking chairs for so long."

In the living room, Adam finds a channel playing The Lost Boys and tries to keep Lawrence engaged in as much stupid vampire-related banter as he can. It works for awhile, but towards the end of the movie, Lawrence begins to grow quiet. And every time Adam looks over, Lawrence is staring at the television but not watching. He tries to say something shocking and absurd to get Lawrence out of his head, but it's never met with more than a hum of disapproval.

The credits begin to roll and Adam sighs. "Dude, come on."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just- maybe I should go to bed."

"You think you can sleep like this?"

"I can try."

"Well, goodnight, I guess," Adam says while Lawrence rises to his feet. "Guess you'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to get me outta your hair."

"You're hardly in my hair, Adam."

"What if I ask if I can take a shower right now?"

"Then I would say to please use the master bathroom, as the guest bathroom's showerhead pressure is lackluster at best."

He follows Lawrence to his bedroom, where Lawrence rifles through his dresser to find sleep clothes that won't fall off of Adam's body. Eventually, he comes up with adjustable sweatpants and a graphic t-shirt from some doctor convention. Adam hangs onto them and browses Lawrence's bedroom while the man performs his nightly routine in the bathroom. The room, like the rest of the apartment, is quite sparse, which leads Adam to believe that it really is true that those in unhappy marriages lose themselves. There's hardly any belongings in here that say anything about the type of person Lawrence is. Adam wants to know everything.

He takes a long shower, basking in the withstanding heat of the water and the smell of Lawrence's bodywash, avoiding eye contact with the handicap chair in there. Upon getting out, he sees that Lawrence has laid out an extra toothbrush and razor for him, so he brushes his teeth and shaves the scraggly facial hair beginning to come through on his jaw. Dressing in Lawrence's old clothes feels about as dizzying as expected. He realizes that he really is dreading going back home, so he doesn't think about it. He'll go back to the living room, drink more of that stupidly good tea, take advantage of Lawrence's cable and just not think about going home.

That plan is thwarted the moment he quietly exits the bathroom.

Lawrence is still awake, buried under the sheets with a book in his hands and his readers on. He puts the book down on his chest the moment he sees Adam, and if Adam didn't know any better, he'd say it seems like Lawrence is almost relieved to see him. "How was your shower?"

"Good. You were right, lovely pressure."

Lawrence hums. His eyes rake over Adam's stature. "The clothes fit you nicely."

"Um," Adam says. "I guess."

He moves toward the door to the hallway. Lawrence stops him before he can turn the knob. "Adam."

Adam doesn't know what it is, if the steam of the shower has gotten to his head or if there was a slow-acting drug in that soup, but he is painfully aware that the air in this room has stiffened to something large and determined to be acknowledged. He cuts his chin to the side, looking off towards the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony. He musters out a, "Yeah?"

He hears shuffling. "You don't... you don't have to sleep out there. On that uncomfortable couch."

"Well, you said it, not me," Adam tries to joke as he turns back around, but it does nothing to alleviate whatever colossal thing is blooming. He sorta wants to bolt while he still can, but that just seems like a dumb idea when Lawrence is literally moving over to give him room to get into his bed. Jesus Christ. Either Adam royally pissed off some higher power or this is the greatest gift of all time.

He gets in the bed.

The mattress is firm and the sheets are silky soft, exactly what Adam would expect of Lawrence's bed. As he settles in under the quilted comforter, he realizes that he's not even all that tired - quite the opposite, given the racing of his heart - so he's not sure what happens beyond this point. Maybe he can just feign sleep until Lawrence chills out and falls asleep. Then, he can slip back into the living room and go to bed on a stiff and hard couch instead of in a very cozy bed next to the man that tried (and may currently be trying again) to kill him. Yeah, foolproof plan.

Only, Adam really doesn't want to leave.

He tries, again, for levity. "Ironic you're cold, 'cause you're like a damn furnace over here, dude."

Lawrence's smile resembles more of a smirk. "That isn't the first time I've heard that. But--" He grabs Adam's arm. "You're quite warm yourself."

"Yeah, I just used up all of your hot water. Is that why you wanted me in here?" Adam asks, playful until Lawrence's eyes fall. "Oh. You really did want me in here for that."

Lawrence's hand slides down to Adam's. His thumb runs over Adam's knuckles, and damn the heat they're sharing, because a chill runs down Adam's spine at the feeling. Quietly, Lawrence murmurs, "I don't want us to be cold like that again. Especially not when you're with me."

Adam exhales shakily. He takes in the man next to him, the man not quite old enough to be his father but easily old enough to be his uncle, the man who put a bullet in his shoulder then proceeded to soothe him until his sobs ceased, the man who is capable of so much that nobody but Adam will ever grasp the full magnitude of. It hurts, just a little. It's a pang-in-the-heart type of hurt. It hurts because Lawrence would never spare him more than a glance if they brushed shoulders at a grocery store. It hurts because Adam wouldn't even be here if not for the worst day of his life. It hurts because Adam shouldn't even be thinking of this man, but he already doesn't know what he'd do without him.

"Last night..." he starts and feels the way Lawrence stills, "...you said you needed me. I don't remember much else, but I remember that. And I don't know why I believe you. I've never believed anyone else who has said those words to me and for good reason. But you..."

"Meant it. I meant it." Lawrence stares down at their entwined hands, squeezing Adam's as if to ensure he's real. "You've enriched my life so much, Adam. More than anyone ever has. And I know our situation is unconventional at best, but I've found myself just... enamored with you."

The edges of Adam's vision pulsate with the pounding of his heart. "Enamored," he repeats, the word loaded and thick on his tongue.

"Yes," Lawrence confirms. "I've enjoyed having you here to the extent of not wanting you to ever leave. That made me realize how much I care for you. How much I'd like to keep you safe." He places his reading glasses on the nightstand before turning onto his side to face Adam, who watches his every move in utter shellshock. Lawrence's free hand draws up to Adam's face, thumb stroking over his cheek. "Would you let me? Keep you safe?"

Adam gulps, feeling as small and powerless as he did back when Alison ratted him out over the phone. Except now, he wants to be at Lawrence's mercy. "Yes," he whispers, and then again, a litany, "yes, yes, yes."

Lawrence nods slowly, his face dragging alongside the pillow. "I'll never let it happen to you again, Adam."

Adam's not listening. His hand is tugging on Lawrence's, fingers clasping around his wrist and pushing the hand forward onto his body. He directs Lawrence's hand further down, his eyes big and nervous. "I know, Lawrence, I know, but please just--" He cuts himself off by pushing against Lawrence's hand.

Lawrence lets out a breath. "Oh, Christ." And then he's pressing his palm against Adam, slow and experimental. Adam sucks in air through his teeth. "I like taking care of you, Adam, I'd like to do it some more, I just don't... I've never..."

"It's fine, can you just touch me? Please?" He's never sounded like this, so desperate for someone. But, he supposes, Lawrence isn't just someone. Lawrence is Lawrence and Adam cannot find the strength to pretend that that doesn't mean something.

Fingers slip past the waistband of his briefs, shaky but strategic. Adam curls forward, his forehead finding Lawrence's, the position so intimate it burns. He keeps his eyes locked downward, afraid to look anywhere else but Lawrence's arm for fear that it may irrationally disappear if he looks away. And that, he finds out when Lawrence finally touches him, would be maybe the worst thing in the history of ever.

"Oh," Lawrence is whispering, "oh." At Adam's hum, he adds, "I just can't believe you want this as badly as I do."

"Worse, probably," Adam replies, finally lifting his eyes to Lawrence's. Lawrence stares back, wide-eyed and hazy, and that's when Adam slots their mouths together, his moan muffled when Lawrence's wrist jerks. Lawrence kisses like he's trying to suck the life out of Adam, to claim and devour. Adam gets impossibly harder impossibly fast.

Lawrence's movements are determined but hesitant, a telltale sign that he hasn't touched another man like this either ever or in many, many years. Adam wonders, briefly, if he has before. If those university antics he talked about ever involved having questionable relations with a dormmate. He's gonna have to tease Lawrence for that, later when his hand isn't around Adam's cock. His thoughts are coming in arbitrary fragments, anyway, nonsensical and directionless like a fever dream. And when Lawrence thumbs at the head, Adam's broken mind is wiped clean. This is only worsened when Lawrence says, hushed and secretive, "I want to be inside of you, if you'd let me."

Adam pinches his eyes shut with a groan. "Fuck, really? You wanna fuck me?"

"Considering I've been thinking of nothing but since yesterday, yeah, I'd say I do want that." The pace of Lawrence's hand slows ever-so-slightly. "Are you alright with that?"

"Jesus, get the lube, Lawrence."

Lawrence sits up to rifle in his bedside drawer, Adam sitting up himself to get in better position. Lawrence draws back with a bottle the size of Adam's head and Adam takes it from him with a breathless laugh. "What?" Lawrence asks, smiling shyly.

Adam shakes his head. "You're just so predictable."

Lawrence's face softens. He surges forward, then, his arms tying around Adam's body, his lips finding Adam's in a heated kiss. Adam drops the lube in his lap in favor of grabbing Lawrence's face. This closeness is good but Adam, greedily, wants more. Now that he knows he can feel Lawrence inside, it's all he wants, all he needs.

"May I?" Lawrence asks, his fingers tugging on the hem of Adam's shirt. Adam nods robotically, helps Lawrence pull the clothing off and fling it aside. There's a moment of stillness between them, Lawrence staring at Adam's shoulder and Adam staring at Lawrence. He isn't prepared for the way Lawrence's eyes go glossy. "Adam..."

He looks so genuinely heartbroken that Adam can't even find it in himself to play this off. He swallows the tightness in his throat and musters out, "You should see the other guy," but it falls on deaf ears. Lawrence traces his finger over the scar, still tender but mostly healed over. Adam tilts his head back with a gasp when Lawrence presses his lips to the flesh. He stares up at the ceiling, hand in Lawrence's hair, and speaks again, "Please don't make me cry, that'll be really ugly and kill my boner and probably yours, unless you really are some sadistic fuck deep down."

"God, Adam," Lawrence murmurs, hot against his skin. "I know you don't want me apologizing, but--"

"Yeah, so can it, alright? You don't need to say it again."

Lawrence presses his forehead against Adam's shoulder. "You spent two days down there thinking you were slowly succumbing to your own death. I just can't even imagine."

"Don't. Don't imagine it." He traces his hand down Lawrence's back soothingly. "It's okay, Lawrence. I'm here, I'm real, I'm okay. Gonna take a little more than a gunshot and a chain to take me out."

Lawrence lifts his head. Adam kisses him before he can say anything. "You're right," he says after a moment, "you're right. Sorry. Hope I didn't ruin the mood."

"Your guilt and regret just drives me so wild, Lawrence," Adam teases, grinning when Lawrence scowls at him. "You didn't ruin any mood. I'm pretty sure I could be hard for you until the end of time. What about you, performance issues? That's fine, I'm sure your fingers will suffice."

"Absolutely not," Lawrence retorts all too quickly. Adam laughs and lets Lawrence push him onto his back. Lawrence's lips find Adam's neck, peppering kisses down to his chest as he rids Adam of his sweatpants and briefs. "I said I was going to take care of you, didn't I?"

"Mmm, so that's why you're fully clothed while I'm butt-ass naked in your cold apartment."

"You're sweating."

"Ugh, doctors think they know everything."

Lawrence shakes his head, smiling in fond exasperation. Adam pushes the huge bottle of lube towards him. Lawrence acknowledges it, but rather than grab it, he once again grabs Adam's cock. Adam watches, eyes blowing wide as Lawrence scrapes his lips from the shaft to the tip. "Is this okay?" Lawrence asks, breath hot against where Adam needs him most.

"Shit, what the fuck? I thought you were too repressed for this shit, holy hell. Yes, yes, it's okay, please keep going," Adam rambles, his voice catching in his throat. He laces a hand through Lawrence's golden hair, leftover styling gel sticking between his fingers. His stomach is doing all sorts of nervous twists because yeah, he's gotten head before, but the idea of getting it from fucking Lawrence seemed implausible up until this point. It's almost too pornographic, a fantasy that Adam would never be able to take seriously because of how unrealistic it is. And yet it's happening.

Lawrence closes his mouth around Adam and Adam internally says a quick thank you to a higher power he doesn't even believe in.

It is painfully obvious Lawrence doesn't really know what he's doing, but Adam couldn't care any less. He's a moaning mess regardless, biting on the tips of his fingers and cursing. The sight alone is something that he'll be dreaming about for the rest of his life; Lawrence's pretty lips around him, his eyes glossed over, the apples of his cheeks rosy red. Accompany that with his darting tongue and the suction of his mouth and, shit, it's hard not to feel like Adam's entire life lead up to this.

Lawrence pops his mouth off after a moment. His lips are already swollen. "Can you... help? I don't really..." he trails off, rubbing his thumb over the vein on Adam's cock.

"Yeah, yeah, just move your head a little, you don't have to take it too deep. Wouldn't want your chicken noodle soup all over my junk." Adam grins crookedly as Lawrence scrunches his face.

"You don't have to be so crass," Lawrence says, but swallows him once more nonetheless. This time, he does begin a steady bob, and he looks up at Adam in silent question.

"Yeah, good, good," Adam breathes and holy hell he isn't going to last long like this. He tugs on Lawrence's hair, a warning. "I don't wanna- ah, fuck- I don't wanna destroy your throat."

Lawrence presses his right hand against Adam's pelvis to hold him down, palm flattening the curly dark hair there, and something about the display of strength and possession has Adam's eyes rolling back in bliss. Lawrence's hand looks so big against him, with his long fingers splayed out and the hair on the back of his hand thick. For a second, it's just too much, and Adam wants to live in that second forever, wants to always be so encompassed in Lawrence that it's dizzying and nauseating and perfect. A hysterical noise bubbles out of him, Lawrence increases the pressure of pinning him down, and he babbles something incomprehensible to everyone but Lawrence apparently, who pulls his head back and jerks Adam until he sees white. Too much is not enough, too much is not enough.

Lungs constricting, Adam finally dares a look at Lawrence. The sight would be comical if Adam's chest wasn't swelling with something unnamed. His hair tousled, his lips resembling a plump ripe cherry, a streak of cum across his face. Most of it ended up on Adam's stomach, likely after Lawrence realized he didn't want to be painted in jizz. Adam swallows, eyes darting away. "Sorry."

"You're alright, sweetheart." Lawrence shifts up the bed to cup Adam's face in his hand. He smiles, closed-mouth and reassuring. "Hey. I'm taking care of you, right? Thank you for letting me. You've done so well for me."

Adam inhales, nodding slowly. He turns his head to press a kiss to Lawrence's palm. "You can still fuck me, please. Need to feel you."

"'Course." Lawrence kisses him, all gentle and innocent despite the cum on his lips. "But you're going to have to be on top, is that okay?"

"It's okay. Thank you," Adam mumbles, quiet and shy. The change in his demeanor has something dark passing over Lawrence's face, his brows loosening and his eyes going half-lidded. Adam's too fucked out to hide anymore, to try to pretend that he doesn't want to be marked and claimed. He can't feel his chest anymore and he just wants Lawrence to continue invoking whatever feeling this is that's so unnervingly close yet so distantly far from the pain he caused months ago.

He lets Lawrence get situated against the pillows before they both work on ridding him of his clothes, Adam on the pants and Lawrence on the shirt. They toss the satin pajamas aside and Adam forces himself not to stare too much at the tent in Lawrence's boxers as he climbs onto his lap. He reaches for the lube instead and squeezes some onto his fingers. His head drops to Lawrence's shoulder when he reaches behind himself but Lawrence grabs his chin, tilting his head back up to face him. "There you go, love." He pushes his thumb past Adam's parted lips and Adam closes them with a sigh.

He doesn't need much preparation, doesn't even want it, really. He wants the stretch and burn, the pinprick of tears. However, riding his own fingers while Lawrence watches him in unbridled arousal is really something he could get used to. Lawrence's attention makes him feel desired and sought after and it's a foreign feeling but one Adam is rapidly growing addicted to. Leaving Lawrence wanting would be fun, but for now, Adam thinks he may disintegrate if he doesn't get Lawrence inside of him. He tugs on Lawrence's hand, pulls his thumb out of his mouth to ask, "Can I put it in?"

The hitch of Lawrence's breath is audible. "Yeah, go on, sweetheart."

He doesn't even register much about Lawrence's cock as he smothers it in lube - other than the fact that it's single-handedly ruined other men for him, although the man himself already achieved that awhile ago. There's no going back from this, Adam knows. He could repress the bathroom all he wanted, he could try to erase Lawrence's face from his mind to the best of his ability, but this is unforgettable. These feelings are new, an original experience for the first time in many years, and they can't be discarded like they're some tragic memory. Adam wouldn't even want that. Even if Lawrence had the world's worst post-nut clarity and kicked him out in the middle of a blizzard, Adam would spend the rest of his life looking for this high like a goddamn meth addict.

Adam guides Lawrence inside of him and thinks, in the back of his mind where the sardonic comments refuse to die, I'm one cock-whipped motherfucker.

Lawrence's fingers dig into Adam's lower back, stabilizing him as if he's prone to flying off. Adam's head drops forward as he sinks all the way, a strangled sound coming from his throat, his hands sliding over Lawrence's soft skin. They linger like that for a moment, even after Lawrence is buried in him to the hilt. The bedroom around them is silent but their breathing and the blood flowing in Adam's ears is louder than ever. When he finally finds the courage to life his head, Lawrence's eyes are glossed over as they regard Adam in what he can only describe as amazement. Adam's forehead finds Lawrence's and he kisses him, quick and sweet.

"Adam..." Lawrence murmurs, one of his hands finding the nape of Adam's sweating neck and stroking it the way one would with a cat.

Inhaling sharply, Adam straightens his posture, pistons his folded legs against the mattress and begins to move his hips. Lawrence groans immediately in relieved pleasure. It's good, it's so fucking good, it's everything Adam could've dreamed about and more. They slot together flawlessly, the head of Lawrence's cock already ghosting the spot inside of Adam that nobody has ever been able to reach. He's achingly hard again already. It's only instinct to begin a steady rhythm.

"Christ, look at you," Lawrence whispers, watching the way Adam's mouth parts as he rides. "You're gorgeous."

"Fuck," Adam gasps, then says it again when Lawrence thrusts up into him, only once but hard enough to send shockwaves through Adam's entire being. He falls forward, hands wrapping around the bars on the headboard. Lawrence's hands are all over him again and land on his thighs, where his nails leave crescent shapes underneath the dark hair. He helps guide Adam up and down, whispering praises that have Adam flushing to his hairline.

His lips drag against Adam's cheek when he says, huskily close to a growl, "I'd fuck you into this bed if I could, you know that? Make you feel me for days."

"Oh my God, Lawrence, Jesus fuck," Adam pants, his hips moving faster and faster in spite of the ache blooming in his thighs. "Please, please, I'm yours, I'm yours, right? Yours--"

Teeth sink into the spot just below his ear, causing him to cry out. Marked, claimed, territory. His chest hurts so badly, he's suffocating, it's so much. Lawrence is moaning underneath him, a sound that Adam's only heard in his nightmares and dreams. His name is interlaced there, between all the uncharacteristic curses, and Adam pushes their mouths together to stifle it all. It's too late, his eyes already sting with the mountain forming in his throat.

"I have to--" he starts, but stops himself with a loud whine. He deserts the rise and fall of his hips in order to grind down on Lawrence and that's all it takes. Lawrence has him where he's most sensitive and vulnerable, and he throws his head back with a wanton cry, the tightness in his chest unraveling as he comes again. Somehow infinitely more blinding than the first time.

It isn't until his moans have dissipated into heavy breaths that he digests the head on his shoulder and the warmth inside of him. He sucks in a ragged breath. Lawrence kisses his scar again. Adam was frightened of this, of the comedown, but it's all peace and bliss.

"I should've gotten a towel," Lawrence grumbles. Adam laughs, a broken little sound that has Lawrence lifting his head. His face is soft and almost youthful as he cups Adam's, wiping away the tears there. When they kiss again, it's heartachingly tender. "I hate to make you get back in the shower."

"It's okay," Adam murmurs. He loathes the feeling of pulling himself off of Lawrence, of the cum leaking out of him when all he wants is it to be there forever. But he follows Lawrence to the bathroom, gets underneath the warm spray of water, all while leaning against the other man. Lawrence feels larger to him, but then again, Adam feels smaller.

"I feel as if I've broken you," Lawrence says while he's seated on the handicap chair, rubbing a soapy washcloth between Adam's thighs.

"You have," Adam responds in a daze, his head lulling against the tile wall, "but that's what I needed."

-

Adam stirs awake to the sound of Lawrence shuffling around. He opens his eyes, watching Lawrence for a moment until the man notices him. When he does, he smiles apologetically. "I tried not to wake you."

"Time is it?"

Lawrence, still in his pajamas, sits back on the bed and strokes Adam's cheek. Adam leans into the touch. "About nine. We slept quite a long time. Almost twelve hours."

"Need more."

Lawrence chuckles at him, but there's a knit in his brows that has Adam frowning.

"Everything--" he yawns, "--okay?"

"My leg's giving me a bit of grief, truthfully."

"Stay in here, then," Adam tells him, tugging on his arm. "We don't have to leave. It's Saturday after Thanksgiving. No responsibilities."

"I still have some paperwork I need to have done by Monday."

"Do it tomorrow. Cram it all in, I don't care. Just stay here for now." He puts on his best begging face. "Please?"

Lawrence sighs, succumbing quickly. "You kill me, Adam."

"Mhm."

Once Lawrence is back underneath the covers, Adam curls up to him, head on his chest and arm around his torso. He inhales the eucalyptus bodywash still lingering on Lawrence's skin, and Adam supposes, his own as well. His stomach does flips when he remembers the way Lawrence toweled him dry and dressed him before they tucked under the covers together, Adam falling asleep the moment his back hit Lawrence's chest. Safety, it felt like. Complete and utter security. It doesn't really surprise him that Lawrence is so attentive and caring, but then again, Adam doubts Lawrence has ever been like this with anyone else. It's not his ego talking, for once - he just knows their situation warrants it. He knows that Lawrence knows what he needs and he's never been so sure of something in his life. It would almost be strange - if it was anybody else.

They spend the morning dozing in and out of consciousness, and around noon, Adam heats up the leftover breakfast from yesterday and makes more tea. He brings it all back to bed and pretends to spill it all on the sheets and laughs at the way Lawrence groans. After they've cleaned their plates, they sit shoulder-to-shoulder against the headboard, drinking tea in relative silence.

That is, until Adam breaks it with a socially acceptable, "My dad's dead."

"As of how recent?" Lawrence asks slowly and carefully.

"Ten years as of this June," Adam says. "It's. I don't know. I like to pretend it doesn't bother me as much as it does. But it really does, especially around this time of year, I guess. He'd go all out on Thanksgiving. Smoked turkey, smoked ham, like five casseroles, homemade bread rolls, three different pies. It was his shit, man. And it was damn good food. Didn't even mind that I'd be having leftovers for every meal for the next week." He smirks at the memories. "Sometimes, I'd help him cook, and we'd create stupid fucking stories about the life the turkey lived before it got killed or whatever. I don't know. Stupid stuff."

Lawrence is rubbing Adam's knee in soothing circles as he listens intently.

"Then he died. Turns out the office he worked at had a carbon monoxide leak, and it'd been building up in his system for awhile. He passed out behind the wheel on his way home one night, and that was that. One minute he was there, the next he was wrapped around a tree."

"How horrible." Lawrence shakes his head. "I'm so sorry, Adam."

Adam takes a long drink of his tea before continuing, "My mom remarried in October. I love her, but she doesn't know how to be alone. She didn't miss my dad, she missed being married. Having that stability, you know. Well, lucky for me, the guy she remarried ended up being a colossal douche and they're still fucking together. He hates my guts and has since day one. Doesn't really like my mom, either. I don't know what he likes other than beer and hunting for sport. But, um, anyway. He had two kids from a previous marriage, and we all three got pretty close. But they're younger than me and I told them I wouldn't leave them behind but..." Adam slots his head onto Lawrence's shoulder. "I left the week I turned eighteen. I couldn't do it anymore, Lawrence. He made my life miserable."

"Did he hurt you?" Lawrence asks the question like he already knows the answer and doesn't want it confirmed.

Adam scoffs. "You know how I am, Lawrence. My smart mouth got me in a whole load of trouble. It wasn't bad. He didn't, like, break my face or anything. Just bruised it up a few times. Anyway, I just..." He chews his bottom lip for a moment. "I just miss my mom, you know? And my step-siblings. I don't call my mom or visit her because that piece of shit is always there to speak over her, and I don't call my siblings because I feel guilty. And I thought that would change when I got out of the bathroom, you know? But no, instead I haven't changed a bit."

"You feel guilty about leaving them behind?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sure they understand, Adam. They had to have seen how poorly you were being treated."

"Yeah, but then I left and passed that onto them. I mean, sure, the guy isn't as brutal to his own flesh and blood as he is to his wife's fucked-up son, but I was a buffer. I took the fall for them and tried to keep them safe. And then, when I left, he made sure to give me hell every time I tried to visit or call, so I just stopped doing that entirely. And I just- wish I had fought harder for them instead of being a pussy. They reached out to me when they saw me on the news, you know, and I spun this lie about how it wasn't actually as bad as the media made it seem and that I'm totally okay, and now I've gone back to, again, being a pussy and avoiding them. But they don't need me, I mean one's becoming a fashion designer in California and the other is in school to become a dentist in Colorado, so, you know. They'll forget about me, and hopefully by doing that, they forget about their sorry excuse of a dad."

"You don't really want them to forget about you," Lawrence says.

"No," Adam agrees solemnly, "I don't. I just think it's the easiest option."

"Oh, because it's worked out so well for you? To just try to forget things?" Lawrence counters, disapproval dripping from his voice. "You need to call them, Adam."

"Are you going to be on my ass until I do?"

"I might, only because I see how much you actually want to do it. There's no use in waiting, Adam. You've witnessed firsthand not once, but twice, how fragile life is and how quickly things can change. You know better than anybody that you shouldn't sit around waiting."

Adam presses his nose against Lawrence's shoulder, closing his eyes as he inhales and exhales. "But it's safer this way."

"Until it isn't." Lawrence grabs Adam's hand, brings it to his lips and kisses the knuckles. "Please consider reaching out to them. Please. I'm not saying this to annoy you or to try to right your wrongs. I'm saying this because I care for you deeply, and I've always thought it's a bit absurd that someone as vibrant as you isn't surrounded by people that love you. Let them in, Adam. You deserve it."

Adam purses his lips. "Can I say something else?"

"You may."

"I know I said yesterday that I told you I was gay to freak you out, and that's still true, but I also said it to entice you, and that's kinda fucked up too, so I'm sorry about that."

Lawrence laughs, hearty and loud. "I don't care, Adam. Considering I've now been inside you, it worked, didn't it?" He kisses Adam's head. "Make no mistake, however, you do not need to use your sexuality as a device to either scare me or entice me. I have no doubts you have enough strange tales of your youth that can achieve the former, and well..." Lawrence's hand ghosts over Adam's hip. "Let's just say you don't have to make much of an effort to entice me."

Adam says, very seriously, "Was it the hand covered in shitty toilet water that did it for you?"

Lawrence chuckles. "Yes, all traces of heterosexuality were gone after that."

"Hmm, speaking of that, you're taking this all suspiciously well. Not that I think you should be freaking out. Just- well. You were just married to a woman a few months ago. Isn't that weird? That's weird. Not quite as weird as me dating a vegan feminist punk a few months ago, but still pretty weird."

"No, Adam. What's weird is that you and I both lied to ourselves for many years about how we feel about women. It's not weird that we've finally stopped something we should've never started. Although, I don't regret Diana. Not at all. I just regret that having her was only an extension of the lie I'd been building."

"Well," Adam smiles wryly, "I'm glad we have something in common."

"Our list of things we have in common is looking a bit grim, I must say."

"Ah, well. Maybe that's my problem. All my exes were too much like me. You're just what I need," Adam says, grinning as he puts his empty mug aside and shifts onto Lawrence's lap. Lawrence mirrors his expression, a playful glint in his eyes.

"That so?"

"Mhm."

"You may be just what I need, yourself."

"Hm, no. I think I know what you need."

"And what would that be?"

"For me to give you the most mindblowing blowjob you've ever received."

Lawrence says, "Well, I think I'd be a fool to argue with that."

Adam's already a little obsessed with the way Lawrence looks at him, but that increases tenfold when he's between his legs. Lawrence is all breathy groans and nails on Adam's scalp and blissed-out smiles, and it's so nice, it's so nice to be the one to bring that out. When it's over, Adam collapses on top of him, ear against his pounding heart. Adam swallows the last dregs of cum sticking to the back of his throat and asks, "When did the heater turn back on?"

"Oh, sometime this morning, I believe," Lawrence says. The tips of his fingers are doing a rhythmic dance against Adam's back.

Adam closes his eyes with a pleased hum. "Did you think about it? After I got in bed with you... and even after we fucked, were you cold?"

"Not in the slightest, Adam," Lawrence murmurs, the smile audible in his tone, "not in the slightest."

-

For the first time in a long time, Adam dreads Monday.

In a roundabout way, it's kinda nice to feel something so unequivocally human. There's a weird sort of comfort in knowing that most adults in this country are also dreading what he's dreading for once. But, for him, Monday doesn't just entail going back to work - there's also the fact that he has to go back to his apartment. He can name, like, thirty things off the top of his head that he'd rather do than go back there, none of which are particularly savory. One involves putting a nail under his toenail and kicking a wall, so, yeah. It's not looking so good.

The dread doesn't fully sink in until Sunday evening, when he's rolling off of Lawrence with burning thighs and beads of sweat on his collarbone. It's instantaneous the moment the haze clears from his mind. I don't want to go back there, he thinks, childishly and not dissimilar to his sentiment towards the bathroom. Now that Adam has had multiple days of distance from his apartment, he realizes how interwoven it actually is with the bathroom in his brain. He's been associating his place of residence with the place he was held hostage for hours. Jesus, no wonder he doesn't want to go back. If only he had known he was doing this back when he still had a shrink.

He lays down slowly after toweling himself clean. He did the laundry for Lawrence today, which made him feel good. He's been helping Lawrence with things all while being here, little things that people with two real feet don't think twice about but turn out to be quite the challenge when you're missing one of those. Laundry definitely falls under that category. So, even though Adam was so confused by Lawrence's special requests that he made him write everything down on a piece of paper, he went down to the laundry room and washed clothes and towels and the sheets. The beaming appreciation Lawrence wore upon Adam's return almost made Adam ask if he could be his live-in maid. That he has sexual and romantic relations with.

He can't stop thinking that, eventually, these sheets are going to need washed again. Even though they've taken necessary precautions (the towel underneath Adam's ass right now has certainly seen better days), Adam's sure Lawrence is the type that wants his bedding washed frequently. And who's going to do that when the time comes? Sure, Adam supposes, Lawrence can - but it'll be a headache and a half for him, a slow as molasses process, and God, Lawrence's boss is right. He's not ready to return to work yet, he's not ready to be on his feet - foot? - much yet, he's not ready to stop being primarily stationary. If Lawrence keeps doing these things alone, it'll be ages before he fully heals. Adam doesn't want that for him.

Adam must be wearing his disdain on his sleeve, because Lawrence sidles up to him and presses a chaste kiss to his temple. He props his head up with his hand, elbow cocked, and he looks so astoundingly young like this that it makes Adam ache. His blond hair tousled and hanging in strings in front of his face, the tension evading his shoulders. "Penny for your thoughts?" he says.

"It's nothing, just..." Adam chews on his lower lip as he stares at the ceiling. "Are you sure you don't need someone here? Like, a caretaker?"

Lawrence hums in confusion. "This is a strange time to revive the sexy nurse topic, Adam, given what you and I just did."

"Not like that. Just someone to help out with stuff."

"I think I'm quite competent on my own."

"Ugh, I don't mean it like that." Adam rolls onto his side to properly face Lawrence, who, to his credit, only seems mildly peeved that Adam would doubt his capabilities. "I know you are. Bet you were the type of kid who started making your own school lunches when you were like six--"

"Five, actually."

"--but that's not what I mean. I mean, like... just to make things easier on you, you know?"

"There's not much that is hard on me, though."

"Oh, yeah, right. There's just laundry, cleaning, fixing lightbulbs, fixing the smoke detector, carrying heavy things, climbing the stairs, and oh, I don't know, the general act of standing up? Just to name a few," Adam retorts. Lawrence rolls his eyes.

"You already fixed the kitchen lightbulb and the smoke detectors for me, Adam, those won't need to be dealt with for quite awhile."

"And yet you conveniently brush past all the other things I mentioned."

"I've fared this well on my own. I don't need help now."

"But wouldn't you like help, though?" Adam asks. "Wouldn't that take such a load off your shoulders?"

"It wouldn't be wise of me to make a financial decision like that when I'm grappling a divorce, so really, it would only be contributing to the load on my shoulders."

"What if you can find someone for free, then?" Adam traces his foot over Lawrence's leg under the covers. "Someone who only requires compensation in the form of blueberry hibiscus tea and earthshattering sex?"

Lawrence's brows raise. "That was your way of proposing that idea?"

"I just thought... I don't know." Adam coyly pretends to be interested in picking at his nails. "I can help out, you know. I have been these past few days and it's been... cool."

"Adam, sweetheart," Lawrence starts as he shifts on top of Adam, pinning him to the mattress with his body weight. He kisses him long enough for Adam's worries to be ushered away. "I enjoy having you around for more than just the helping hand, you know," Lawrence tells him against his mouth, "it's not as if I grew attracted to you solely within the past few days. Although there was something about you changing that lightbulb..."

"Hm. So that's why you sucked my dick on the couch. I was wondering why you made such an unsanitary decision."

Lawrence chuckles, kissing him again briefly. "I mean it. You enrich my days just by being here."

Adam scrunches his face, struggling to believe those words. "You mean even when I do nothing but sit on your couch and watch TV and bitch about your lack of junk food?"

"Even then, yes."

"That's... weird."

"I suppose so," Lawrence says as he combs his hand through Adam's hair, pushing it out of his face, "but it's the truth. You make everything seem so easy. I don't know how to articulate it. It's as if you're able to breeze through whatever's giving me hell and purify as you go along."

"I'm used to creating my own hell, actually."

"That's the thing. Despite your turmoil and the tragic things you've told me... to me, you are nothing but positivity. I mean that," Lawrence says earnestly. "I kinda like having that around. It's refreshing. God knows those my age are nothing short of depressing. Most of the people I work with don't even like what they do. But you'd never force yourself into a job you hate and I admire that about you. You'd never force yourself into anything you hate."

"But--" Adam starts and is cut off by Lawrence kissing him again.

"Will you just accept the damn compliment? Or will it take this--" He rolls his hips against Adam's once. "--to convince you?"

Adam's pupils blow wide. "You know what, I really may need some of that convincing."

Lawrence chuckles. "You're doing things to my libido that are scientifically quite rare at my age, you know that?"

"It's not me as much as it's the repressed homosexuality, but fuck, I'll take it."

Lawrence smiles, closed-mouth and a little sad. "For the record, I don't want to see you leave tomorrow, either."

Adam's breath catches in his throat and he looks back up at the ceiling. "Fuck, Lawrence, what if we just hide me in the closet when Alison drops off Diana? She'll never know. Nobody will ever know. I can be your secret, gay, fifteen years younger live-in nurse."

Lawrence drops his forehead to Adam's chest. "I wish that was at all realistic. But you know how it looks for you to live with me right now. While I'm finishing this damn divorce. Plus, Diana... she has to come first."

"Of course. Wouldn't even want to live here if she wasn't comfortable with it. But if she was..."

"If she was, then I'd be clearing out drawers for you in my dresser. I want you here, Adam." Lawrence lifts his head. "I'd even go as far as to say I need you here."

Adam swallows down the mountain forming in his throat. "I'd say we're moving too fast, but I think we surpassed all bases when you put a hole in my shoulder."

As he falls asleep against Lawrence's chest, he still feels as full of dread as before. But maybe it's a little easier knowing Lawrence feels it, too.

-

Adam had thought, perhaps naively, that they'd created some sort of untouchable haven in Lawrence's apartment that wouldn't translate well in the real world. These things never really work out for him, so it wasn't outlandish to assume that things would start going downhill. As it turns out, whatever synergy they birthed together isn't going down that easily. Humans are creatures of habit and it doesn't take long for Adam and Lawrence to fall into unshakeable habits. The nightly phonecalls, Lawrence popping in while Adam's working, Adam staying with Lawrence on the days where Diana is at Ali's. It's, surprisingly, really effortless. As if they've been in each other's lives for much longer than a few months.

And really, Adam can't believe that isn't the case. A traumatic-ass event makes time all wonky, he's learned, but still - it's absurd to him that Lawrence isn't someone he's known his whole life. Or even longer. That'd be kinda creepy, though. He's glad Lawrence didn't know him when he was in diapers. Regardless, it's nearly unnerving to be read so well by someone, and Adam can't help but wonder how much of that is due to the bathroom. He often thinks back to when Lawrence said they've already seen each other at their worst, so he knows what to look for. But what if they hadn't seen each other at their worst? What if they'd outsmarted Jigsaw and gotten the hell out of dodge without losing copious amounts of blood and sanity? Would there even be anything between them, then?

God, Adam can't believe that he's romantically involved with someone who makes him think. He used to date people to stop thinking, not the opposite.

One time, Lawrence offered to hook him back up with Mrs. Riley. "I'll pay for it, even, if it's something that'll help you."

Adam was really tempted to take him up on that offer, just so he could go back to that office and make Mrs. Riley uncomfortable by recounting in explicit detail the sex he and Lawrence have. Otherwise, he doesn't want to be there to witness the satisfaction she undoubtedly feels now that Adam's with Lawrence.

He said to Lawrence, "I don't want to go back to someone so unprofessional, Lawrence. Sharing confidential information and subtly trying to push us together? It's sickening! How could I ever trust someone after that?" The faux-horror in his tone had been lost on Lawrence, who was more sheepish about the actual words Adam was saying. He meant it, sorta. It's weird as fuck to get therapy from someone who's willing to risk their job to tell their friend about a patient. Weirder when said friend and patient are now... something. It's just weird.

(Adam doesn't care. At all. One may even say he's grateful for Mrs. Riley's meddling. Adam will never admit those words aloud.)

His mind just doesn't ever really shut up nowadays. There's no cure except getting high in his apartment, something he's doing less and less. It's still running rampant when he's with Lawrence, but at the very least, he can usually vocalize whatever it is he's thinking to Lawrence, and that usually turns his brain off for at least awhile. Also, the fact that being with Lawrence, a real live breathing Lawrence, reduces the thoughts to just that: thoughts. There's none of the stomach-sinking fear he has when he's alone in his apartment, waking up with blind panic and Lawrence's name on his tongue. There's none of that persistent desire to curl in on himself and shut down, not when he's with Lawrence. Lawrence wouldn't even let that happen. He'd be an annoying bitch until Adam was smiling again.

Everything is still as hard as it was when Adam was getting discharged from a hospital with a bandaged shoulder. That hasn't changed. It hasn't gotten easier, just more manageable. Adam can live with that. He's settled for less before.

-

The tree in Lawrence's living room is alive with vibrant, multi-colored lights. It sticks out like a sore thumb in his still barren apartment, but the ornaments dangling from it provide all the personality needed. The papercraft Diana made in her class, the stethoscope Adam found at a thrift store, the orange cat that Lawrence picked out for Adam at Target. They're eye-catching but they mesh well with the generic, icicle-shaped ornaments that surround. Adam likes it a lot. He hasn't ever put up a Christmas tree in his apartment, or the various apartments he shared with a plethora of people in his freshly-adult years, and it reminds him of his childhood. Before it went to hell.

"Sorry Diana couldn't be here for Christmas," Adam says.

"It was fine celebrating with her a few days early. Plus, Ali's side of the family has been spoiling her rotten, so.. I'm not opposed to her being there. I want her to be happy." Lawrence sighs from where he sits in his chair and Adam hums doubtfully.

"You ever gonna stop downplaying shit? You do realize it's okay to be sad that it's your first Christmas without your daughter, right?"

Lawrence drags a hand over his face and says, "One of many."

Adam stands from the couch in favor of sitting on the armrest of Lawrence's chair. He wraps his arm around Lawrence's shoulder, Lawrence's arm hooking around Adam's waist. "I'm sorry," he says again, "I know it must hurt like a bitch."

"It does," Lawrence admits, voice muffled due to his face being pressed against Adam's side.

"There you go, finally you stop trying to be all macho. While I have you like this, tell me, how bad does your leg hurt?"

"It's not bothering me, actually." Lawrence raises his head and, at Adam's dubious expression, adds, "I'm being honest, Adam."

Adam grins. "I know, I noticed you weren't making old man noises while walking today. It's been better lately, yeah?"

Lawrence nods. "I'm clear to go back to work next month."

Adam's smile gradually drops until he's resembling a child who's been denied McDonalds for dinner. "That's great," he forces out, "I'm sure you're eager for that."

"But you aren't," Lawrence notices. "What's the matter?"

"I don't want this to end," Adam admits before he can talk himself out of it. "I never thought I'd be saying that about what is pretty much the worst period of my life... I mean, I want that to end, duh. But I don't want the best part of it to all to end."

Lawrence looks equal parts confused and horrified. "Adam, I'm not going to end our relationship just because I'm going back to work. I'm not that committed to my job." He grimaces. "Anymore."

"I didn't think that," Adam says, stretching out the word like he thinks the thought is inane. But then he's retreating into himself, small meek. "I don't know. No more visiting me at work. No more late night calls 'cause I won't wanna keep you up. You're gonna be gone a lot and I'm gonna be alone. Fuck. It's- I sound so stupid, oh my God." He winces. There's something about hearing himself verbalize these thoughts that reinforces how immature they really are.

"You don't sound stupid. We've grown accustomed to this life, it's hard to change. But I need to go back to work. For my own benefit, if anything--"

"I know, I know. I know you'll be a lot happier there."

Lawrence gives him a closed-mouth smile. "Still not as happy as I am with you, however."

Adam rolls his eyes in spite of the flush dusting his cheeks. "So fucking cheesy."

"It's just a shame I can't make money by spending time with you."

Adam sucks the inside of his cheek as he grins. "Well, I can think of a couple ways we could make a profit."

Lawrence furrows his brows. "How? I can't think of--" His mouth parts. "Oh."

"You ever watched any gay porn? Dude, we'd make bank, I'm telling you. I could finally wear that nurse outfit for you and you could call me your little slut--"

"No, I have not watched any gay porn, and I'm not interested in it if that's what it entails." Lawrence pauses. "Although, I did get some experience in the matter during university."

Adam gasps so hard he nearly slides off the armrest. Lawrence tightens his grip on him. "I knew it! I fucking knew it!"

"Anyway," Lawrence begins pointedly, "back to what you said earlier before you started being unnecessarily sexual, as per usual. I can assure you, Adam, that nothing is going to change between us. We'll still have time together, and besides, it's not going to be an all-at-once sort of thing. I'm sure they'll have me do half of my hours for the first month or so. They'll want to ease me into it. So... we'll have time to adjust. It won't be sudden, I can promise you that."

"Time to adjust..." Adam repeats quietly. "That sounds nice."

Lawrence rubs his hip in gentle circles. "Adam, do you think I've changed much from who I used to be? Who I was when you were following me?"

Adam blinks at the loaded question. "Um. Yeah, yeah, I think so. You're not as full of yourself, for starters. More patient. Understanding. You're- yeah. You have changed, I guess."

"Mmm, and don't you think that, given those things you listed, I wouldn't prioritize anything, not even work, over what matters most to me?"

"I don't know," Adam says honestly, "I've never been prioritized that much."

"Rest assured, you are now. I'm putting Diana and you above everything else and I refuse to make the same mistakes again."

It only now occurs to Adam that Lawrence very well could be as fearful of going back to that place as he is. He never entertained the possibility of that, given how childish of a fear it seemed. It doesn't seem that way when it's affecting Lawrence, though. It's more tangible this way, which in turn, should be terrifying, but he finds that it's only comforting. It's comforting knowing Lawrence is real and human and not some impenetrable force. Even if the very fact resulted in so much hurt at a point.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Adam admits, head bowed and voice quiet. He inhales sharply before continuing, "I didn't think I would need you even after we got out of that place. But I think I need you more now than I did then."

"Adam," Lawrence mumbles, reaching up to trace his fingers over Adam's chin. Adam meets his eyes with reluctance. "I promise you, I share that sentiment with my entire being."

Adam nods, slowly then vigorously. He catches Lawrence's hand in his own and the older man squeezes it. "I believe you. I've always believed you."

Sadness crests Lawrence's face. "I'm glad, although I don't always feel deserving. Frankly, Adam, I do sometimes worry about... returning to the man I used to be. I used to think that was all I wanted, for things to just go back to how they had been. But now... now that I have you... I want to be better than that, for you. I like the way you make me feel, Adam. It's a way I haven't felt in many, many years and I don't want it to go away again."

Fed up with the minuscule distance between them, Adam slinks off of the armrest and onto Lawrence's lap with the grace of a newborn rhino. Lawrence grunts at the impact but doesn't hesitate in hanging onto Adam's hips, drawing him closer. Adam presses his face into Lawrence's neck with a relieved sigh. "Well, hopefully it doesn't go away for as long as I don't go away, yeah?" he murmurs against Lawrence's skin, pressing a chaste kiss below his ear. "Which I don't plan on doing anytime soon, if you couldn't tell by the way I'm clinging to you like a goddamn monkey."

Lawrence's chuckle rumbles through Adam and has him smiling to himself. This lasts until Lawrence says, "I've been wanting to ask you something for awhile now."

"I'm dreading it already."

"Have you given up photography entirely?"

Oh. That's not what Adam was expecting. "Um. I don't know. Would you believe me if I said I just don't think about it anymore? I just knew I couldn't go back to making a living like that after everything, so... I don't know."

"But surely it started as a hobby rather than a job, right?"

"Well, yeah. My dad bought me my first camera, actually." Adam sits up straight, looking at the wall behind Lawrence's head as he recalls. "I took it on a fishing trip we went on. He really complimented me on the photos I took of the lake, so it just stuck. I've always liked snapshots in time. And the way cameras don't lie." He winks down at Lawrence, who scoffs.

"That's a nice story nonetheless. I don't like thinking that such a hobby of yours got so unfairly taken from you."

"Guess that's what I get for abusing said hobby." He runs a hand through Lawrence's hair to comb it back, the action sheepish with the weight of the words on his tongue. "By the way, um, speaking of... family shit. I just wanted to tell you that yesterday, during my break at work, I called my step-siblings. And you don't have to make a big deal out of it. I'm only telling you because... it went really well and they're thinking about visiting sometime next year. Or I'll scrounge up enough cash to go see one of them. I don't know. Nothing's set in stone, but yeah. So. Thanks, I guess."

He's embarrassed at the way Lawrence beams at him. "That's great news, Adam. I knew they'd be happy to hear from you."

"Yeah, yeah, you knew it all along, whatever." Adam rolls his eyes but ties his hands around the back of Lawrence's neck. "Still gonna be a cold day in hell before I call my mom again."

"That's okay. One step at a time."

"I wish you'd stop spending time with Mrs. Riley."

Lawrence chuckles. "Oh, now you're worried about her like Alison was when we were together?"

Adam scrunches his face, shaking his head a little. "Dude, was she ever worried about someone she actually should've been worried about? Like, maybe a man?"

Lawrence shifts uncomfortably with a sigh. "I would've never done that. I was bound to continue searching for happiness in various women, all while burying my true desires and pretending everything was fine."

"Would you still be doing that if not for me?" Adam asks, only partially joking.

"Most likely," Lawrence replies earnestly.

"Oh. That's sad as shit, dude. You really were more fucked up than you wanted to believe."

He grimaces. "Yes, thank you, Adam. I think I've realized that by now. This isn't the type of conversation I was aiming to have tonight, believe it or not."

Adam sits back on Lawrence's thighs, dropping his hands to his own knees. "What conversation were you aiming to have tonight, then?"

"I actually asked you about your photography because I wanted to know if you had any plans of returning to it professionally. But seeing as you don't, I... might have something you can do as work. Something better than that record store."

Adam makes a face. "I'm not looking forward to whatever charity case this is."

"I feared you would say that, but Adam, it's a very good opportunity. I'm friends with a surgeon at a local vet office. I... well, I admit, I did ask if there was anything you could do. He told me that if I truly endorse you, which I do, that you could work there as an assistant. Not for the surgeries, just for the animal check-ups. You know, to wrangle restless cats and give treats to whining dogs, take blood and urine samples, that sort of thing." Lawrence smiles sorta sheepishly. "I didn't even ask about the pay, I'm sorry. I just figured it can't be any less than what you're currently making and you'd actually be doing something you're passionate about."

"Wow," Adam says. "That's... wow."

"Good wow?"

"I mean, yeah, I just... can't believe anyone would do that for me, I guess." He ducks his head, picking at a loose thread in his jeans. "Kinda feels like you are just 'cause you pity me. Which is - whatever. Everyone does, I just--"

"Adam, for Christ's sake, I don't pity you," Lawrence says, exasperated but fond. "I'm not doing this because I feel sorry for you or because I think you're lazy or any of that. I'm doing it because I want to see you flourish doing something that you love.  Please, please believe me when I say I'm not doing this to feel like some grand person, to stoke my ego or something nonsensical like that. You don't even have to accept the offer. If you don't, I won't try again. This is all for you."

"And a little bit for your guilt, right?"

Lawrence scowls at him. "Adam, come on."

"No, I'm not saying it to be argumentative. It's true. You still feel guilty, it's okay. But you don't need to do any sort of grand gestures for me because of that, alright? You know how I feel about you. You know that I'd follow your ass through the deepest layer of hell barefoot if you so much as asked. And you don't have to feel like you need to buy my love when you already have it."

Lawrence blinks. "Oh. Oh. That's... okay, alright. But, ahem..." He clears his throat. "Will you at least consider it? I won't do anything else after this."

"I don't believe you." Adam reaches up to trace his thumb over Lawrence's cheek. "But yeah, I'll consider it. Where is the office?"

"It's a couple miles out. If you're concerned about the bus fares, then I can pay for you to get your car fixed, I know you mentioned it's got something wrong with it--"

"Lawrence, you're already doing it."

"Oh, Christ." He shakes his head. Adam laughs heartily.

"You're a riot, dude." He leans in to kiss him. "Thank you, though, I mean it."

"Of course," Lawrence says against his mouth, "do you mind making us some tea now?"

Adam doesn't only make the tea, he also makes a bunch of Pilsbury sugar cookies that have Christmas trees on them, which he persuaded Lawrence into letting them buy when they were at the store a few days ago. When he returns to the living room, he sees that Lawrence has migrated to the couch, a silent little thing he does - moving there from his chair so the two of them can be closer. It makes Adam a little giddy every time he rounds the corner and sees the back of Lawrence's head at the couch. He hands Lawrence his tea, places the plate of cookies onto the coffeetable, then sidles up next to him. The television announces that A Christmas Story will be played in ten minutes.

"Doesn't get anymore white-couple-in-a-Hallmark-ad than this," Adam remarks as he draws the throw blanket they're sharing up to his chin.

"We're only missing a yapping dog." Lawrence shakes his head quickly at the look Adam gives him. "That will not change."

"Sure, whatever..." Adam grumbles. He rests his head on Lawrence's shoulder and relishes in the way the older man scratches his scalp affectionately. "Anything else you want to say to make us the sappiest, grossest couple of all time?"

"There's nobody else I would've rather been locked in a room with."

"But is there anybody else you would've rather shot?"

"Adam," Lawrence scolds, but he's staring down at Adam with all of the fondness in the world, so much it hurts. It always hurts, a little. There's always that swelling between Adam's lungs, that need to breathe that likely won't ever go away. It isn't always a bad thing. Actually, it's becoming less and less of a bad thing these days. He's pretty sure it's been proven that badness can't exist when Lawrence is in the equation. The nightmares and the shadows and the fears may persist, but considering they're about as tangible as Lawrence's right foot, it's hard to pay them much mind.

For once, post-bathroom Adam has something that pre-bathroom Adam doesn't. He considers that a win.